


What Worked Before but No Longer

by NikoNotHere



Series: Becoming Whole Together [4]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mutual Pining, Past Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Relationship, Self-Destruction, fear of intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 73,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Rammstein is broken. After a terrible incident, Schneider is on his own and trying to cope with the loss of his friends. Meanwhile, the rest of the band is forced to move rapidly in a different direction as they attempt to hold their strained friendships and relationships together.
Relationships: Christian Lorenz/Christoph Schneider, Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Becoming Whole Together [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604857
Comments: 318
Kudos: 129





	1. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul does his best to cheer up Flake

A low whistling filled the kitchen, which grew to an insistent, high pitched shriek as the kettle began to boil. Paul picked it up from the stove and poured it into nearby waiting mugs. He savored the feel of the steam near his hand as the boiling water filled the two cups, steeping the teabags in them. Chai was Flake's favorite tea.

After letting them sit for a few minutes, Paul squeezed a tiny bit of honey into one after removing the tea bag and mixed it thoroughly. His own tea he let steep a bit longer. He preferred it very strong. 

Hooking his fingers into the handle of the mug of honey tea, he gently picked it up and brought it to the living room. Flake was sitting in the armchair, cocooned in a large blanket and reading what Paul considered to be a drearily boring philosophy book. Flake only briefly glanced over as Paul set the tea down next to him.

"Danke," he mumbled, not moving from his blankets or his book. 

"It's chai," Paul offered, smiling hopefully. "Just a little honey, like you always drank in Berlin."

"Mm." Flake's glassy eyes didn't leave the book, nor did he reach for the tea.

Paul wilted. He had tried absolutely everything in his power to engage Flake over the past two and a half weeks. He'd found and brought him hard to find car books; he'd bought him a brand new set of expensive kitchen knives; he'd driven him to see his horse; he'd offered to take him to look at different keyboards-- everything he knew Flake liked, he did for him. None of it had so much as pulled even a slight smile. He'd fallen into a crippling depression after Schneider had been forced to leave the band. Paul didn't know what else to do, and seeing one of his best friends so broken was killing him. 

"Flake, you can't keep this up forever," Paul said.

Flake just kept reading.

Frustrated, Paul grabbed the book out of Flake's hands and, before tossing it onto the coffee table nearby, politely dog-eared the open page as a bookmark.

Flake finally looked up, but instead of the sassy irritation he would normally have from Paul snatching something of his, he remained looking stoic.  
"I was reading that," he said in a very low monotone. 

"I don't care. All you do anymore is sit in your chair and read. You don't cook, you don't compose, you're barely present in any of our band meetings, and you act like we all just collectively took your favorite classic car and scrapped it at a junkyard."

Flake just blinked at him.

Paul rubbed his eyes with a hand.  
"I don't know what else to do, Flake. Please just tell me what I can do to make you feel better. I'm officially at my wits end. You can't stay this depressed; it's bad for you."

"I'm not depressed," Flake said quietly.

"Bullshit. Not depressed would be you doing things you enjoy, getting on to the rest of us for eating takeout every night, and being part of this band "

"It doesn't feel like Rammstein anymore," he said simply.

Paul winced at Flake's words, because he was right.  
"Flake, look, it's not like he's dead or something--"

"He may as well be with how you all act," Flake said, cutting Paul off sharply but keeping his tone even. 

"Well, can you blame us?"

Flake blinked at him again, a little more slowly, then just turned his body to face and look out the back window, away from Paul. 

Paul sighed with a combination of sadness and resignation. He knew there was nothing short of going back in time and keeping Flake away from Schneider that would "fix" Flake and get him back to normal.

That awful night, after Flake had come racing out of their dressing room and straight into Paul (for the second time that day), Paul had been worried sick. Flake was shaking and barely coherent, mumbling about how he'd made a mistake and something about being scared and sorry as he clung to Paul.

When Paul had asked what happened, Flake just glanced nervously back at the dressing room. Till had walked by then, arm-in-arm with Richard. Paul intercepted them and asked Till to check out the dressing room. Seeing Flake in such a state pulled Till from his cheery mood and he did so. 

Paul didn't know what went on when Till confronted Schneider in the dressing room, and to be perfectly honest, he didn't want to. As soon as he'd heard angry voices being raised and what sounded like things breaking, he took Flake away to the other side of the backstage area to calm him down. It took about a half hour before Flake got himself under control enough to explain to Paul what had happened. Paul's blood still simmered at the thought of Schneider taking advantage of Flake like that, but he'd managed to keep his anger tapped down to help Flake. He'd driven them to the hotel, assisted Flake in gathering his things and drove them back down to their familiar flat where they'd be staying for a few days as they decided what to do.

The few days had turned into weeks. When Till, Richard, and Oli returned that first night, their faces were stony and grave. Flake had gone to bed at Paul's insistence, but only after after being given some strong medicine to help him sleep. 

"Schneider is no longer a part of Rammstein," Till had said, his voice gravelly and rough as if he'd been screaming for a long period of time. He sat down heavily on their familiar couch and put his head in his hands. 

Paul had been absolutely stunned.  
"We didn't even vote on it," was all he managed to say.

"We didn't need to," Richard said, his voice just as raspy as Till's as he walked over and rubbed Till's back. "Schneider assaulted him. We can't just let something like that go."

Paul had no comeback. They were absolutely right, and from what Flake had told him-- though he had a suspicion what Flake said had been only partly true to protect his friend-- Schneider should not be allowed back. While the punishment of banishment seemed extreme, Paul understood. 

The problem was, Paul also understood Flake's depression. Schneider had made a mistake, albeit an incredibly awful, damaging one. But it was abundantly clear what Flake had felt for him was more than just wanting to sleep with him. Anytime Flake overheard Till and Richard bickering about what to do about the rest of the tour; or when Paul asked if their album needed to be postponed; or anytime anything to do with Schneider was brought up, Flake would sink further and further into his depression and withdraw even more from the rest of the band and his life in general.

Flake loved Schneider, and Paul needed to do something about it. He feared Flake would retreat so far into himself eventually that no one would be able to find him again. He had to help him before that happened. 

To do that, Paul knew he had to talk to Schneider.

\---------

"Ah, fuck."

Schneider's eyes squeezed shut and he groaned, tightly gripping the hips of the woman he was currently buried inside of.

She flinched and made a gasping noise as he slapped her ass, hard.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, sloppily jerking his hips into her. He slurred out his pleasure, knocking over one of the half full beer bottles he'd set on the edge of the bed for some reason. The barely sober part of his brain tried to remember that he would need to clean it up before he left.

It took far longer and way more effort than he wanted to expend, but he finally finished, pulling out and messying the woman's back. He felt mildly guilty that he didn't even know the name of the woman he had just defaced, but the thought was fleeting in his drunken mind. He finished, and he had a warm bed with an attractive person to sleep with for the night. That's all he cared about.

As usual, the woman he bedded fell asleep quickly. He always made sure he and whatever person he was with were very drunk, both to ensure they slept soon after sex, and to give himself an easy out the next morning before they woke. 

Schneider flopped down onto the bed, exhausted and disgusted with himself. He knew full well the piece of human garbage that he was acting like. For two weeks now, he'd determined that since he'd fucked over his best friends like a douchebag, he might as well live like one, considering he didn't have the ambitions and drive for life that he used to. He didn't want to die; he just didn't want to live well. 

His routine had been perfected in the first 4 days after the incident. He went to a different bar each evening, found someone attractive and laid the moves down for them-- usually by buying them an exorbitant amount of drinks. When the conversation inevitably turned to going home, Schneider settled on the story of being an artist who was in town just for a little while staying at a shitty hotel. He refused to actually get a hotel, his crushing self-hatred forbidding him to have that comfort. 

The people he seduced always then invited him back to their houses, where he proceeded to keep drinking, fuck them, and then fall asleep. He would always rise very early the next morning, before whatever person he was with got up, and he'd leave. Then, he'd go get himself breakfast, hit the gym, either go see a movie or practice drums in a local music shop, eat lunch, go to the library and read up on music theory, and then he'd find a new bar. 

Schneider had done this every single day for over two weeks, and it was quickly killing him. 

Every day he also had pulled out his phone, right before falling asleep in whatever stranger's bed he was in, and he would re-read a pre-typed text message that he never sent:

\----------

Flake,  
I'm not very good at apologies, but I have to do it anyway. I am so sorry; so incredibly, deeply sorry for what I did. There was no excuse for it, not even the drugs. I behaved like an animal with no thought to you, your comfort, or your feelings. 

You were right to kick me out of the band, but not a day goes by that I don't miss everyone and wish I were back with you all. More importantly, not even a minute goes by that I don't relive what I did and feel absolutely sickened at myself. I would give absolutely anything to somehow go back and change the past, to not take the cocaine and to treat you with the respect and care you deserve, not like an object to selfishly use.

I wish I knew what to do to make it up to you. I know I don't deserve to even so much as speak to you again, much less ask for your forgiveness, so I won't. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to feel safe and cared for. I'm so sorry I fucked all of that up for you. 

This letter wasn't written to get anything "off my chest," or to feel better because I apologized or whatever for my own sake. I wrote this to beg you to please forget all about me and my miserable, shitty self, to move forward without so much as a glance back, and to be happy. Please, if nothing else, please be happy despite me. I couldn't live with myself if I knew I'd hurt you beyond repair. 

I'm so sorry, Flake. And I hope despite everything that you're happy and doing well.

-Schneider 

\---------

Every night without fail as he re-read his apology note in some stranger's bed, Schneider wept bitterly, mourning for his broken friendship until he finally passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everybody ^_^ I hope you're ready for another fun (and sometimes un-fun) new segment. These chapters may come slightly more slowly as I'm currently co-writing another longer fic in addition to this one, but I promise I will still keep updates very regular. 
> 
> I love all y'all, and as always, please don't hesitate to comment and chat with me about this or anything else, both here and on Tumblr (NikoNotHere).
> 
> Be safe out there, and I hope you have fun along with me with this.


	2. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake is wallowing in his depression, unable to move on from it. Paul makes a last ditch effort to help him.

Flake went to bed early, as he'd taken to doing for the past few weeks. The sense of numb, uncaring heaviness followed him like a guard dog, or like a dismal cloud of downpouring rain. Paul had tried to rouse him as he did every day, and a small part of Flake knew he should be both encouraged by his friend's care, as well as feel badly for not acknowledging his attempts. But he couldn't. 

Flake stared at the ceiling above his bed in the dark room, letting his eyes fix on one spot until he began to see strange shapes and movements in his tired eyes. He never slept well anymore, when he finally managed to get to sleep that is. Normally he spent several hours just laying in bed, waiting for time to pass. That's all he expected from life now; the dragging on of minutes and hours until one day ended and another began. Days drifted one into another until Flake both didn't know and didn't care what the date was.

Of course he was depressed. Flake may be in the pit of despair, but he wasn't suddenly rendered stupid by that fact. He just simply couldn't bring himself to admit it to anyone else. Though Richard and Oli gave him his space-- which he always silently thanked them for-- Till and especially Paul had been nearly nonstop in their comfort, care, and encouragement. It would have been sweet, had Flake desired comfort, but he didn't. He was resolute and unwavering in his melancholy. 

Flake heaved a sigh and rolled onto his side. He reached over and opened his bedside table drawer, digging around in it for a moment before pulling out a length of soft fabric. He sat up and ran his long fingers over it, gently caressing and feeling the fibers under his touch. 

It was the scarf Schneider had been wearing the night he saved Flake from the bar fight. It had been left in the chaos of the others packing up his things after they decided he was no longer part of the band, so Flake had kept it. He fully intended to return it to Schneider, but from the bits and pieces of hushed conversations he'd overheard Paul sharing, no one really knew where Schneider was anymore. Paul kept up with Schneider's family who stayed in semi-frequent contact with him, and could confirm he was still alive at least, but that was all they knew. 

A pang of sadness hit Flake. Schneider would be self-destructing one way or another. Whether was booze, cocaine, sex, he didn't know; but he did know Rammstein was Schneider's whole world. He'd mentioned to Flake once that he didn't really know how much he had in life apart from the band. At the time it seemed an innocent comment, one Flake had made himself many times jokingly. Now it seemed like a lingering threat rather than a joke. 

Flake sighed and pushed his face into the scarf. It smelled of spiced cologne and aftershave, a smell that brought Flake back to the nights they'd spent in bed, Schneider protectively holding him and keeping his nightmares at bay.

It took a lot of effort to fight back tears. Flake couldn't cry anymore. This was pathetic enough already, clinging to a random piece of clothing from a man he'd not so much as said "I love you" to.

That thought stung. Why couldn't he have said it? He felt sure that Schneider would have acted worlds differently if he had confessed as much to him. They could have talked, worked it out, figured out if it were mutual or a silly one-sided crush, and most importantly, Schneider would still be here with them. Flake didn't fault the man for being pushy and overtly sexual with him; that was an inevitability with cocaine. Flake had only been nervous because of the abruptness of the advance, not the advance itself. He had even *enjoyed* it. 

His reaction had been because of his own mind, twisting and screaming at him that Schneider didn't actually want him despite his actions and words. No one could, his thoughts had berated him. He was far too unattractive, had no real gifts or talents to speak of, and even still to this day could hardly get through a conversation without stuttering and losing his train of thought because of it. Schneider had been confused, mistaking pity for desire under the influence of drugs. That's all it had been, and now Schneider was paying for that mistake, alone and probably spiralling out of control. 

No, Flake didn't blame Schneider at all. 

He blamed himself, fully and completely.

That thought haunted him as it did every single night until he finally succumbed to sleep, his face buried in Schneider's scarf.

\-----------

Paul poked his head into his and Flake's room to see if Flake had fallen asleep. It was only 9pm, but Flake had been going to his room for the night around 7pm each evening and not emerging until quite late the following morning.

Flake was in bed and facing away from the door, but breathing rhythmically and laying quietly. Paul closed the door quietly and went into the kitchen, pulling his phone from his pocket. Oli was with his girlfriend, as usual, and Richard and Till had gone out on a date to dinner and a movie and would be gone until quite late.

Now was likely the only time he'd have to do this.

He dialed the familiar number with an anxious tapping of his fingers on the phone screen, and hesitated before hitting "dial." He was still upset with Schneider for what he'd done, and was unsure if he could forgive him for it. Though a similar incident occurred between Till and Richard, it was a very different situation. Richard-- though he'd done it angrily-- had done what he did to try and help Till, albeit misguided and inappropriate. According to the little he'd found out, Schneider had just seemingly wanted to get his rocks off with no thought for Flake at all. That was what separated the two and made Schneider's actions so much more reprehensible in Paul's eyes. Flake may have loved Schneider, but by his actions, it was clear the opposite was not true of Schneider.

Paul almost lost his nerve to call then because of his anger. But the image of Flake staring forlornly out the window, barely eating, sleeping only fitfully when he managed to sleep at all, pushed him to hit "call."

\-----------

Schneider was 4 beers deep into his next bar venture and was beginning the early stages of his flirtation with a fit, blond-haired man when his phone rang. He looked down and blanched as he saw the name pop up. 

"Excuse me for just a second," he hurriedly said to the man, who simply nodded and grinned at him.

Schneider ran out the front doors of the bar and accepted the call, his hands shaking anxiously as he did so. 

"Ja?" he answered with a waver in his voice. 

"Hey," he heard Paul reply. 

The two said nothing for several seconds, both unsure how to proceed and feeling terribly awkward. 

"Um, how are you?" Paul finally managed to ask.

"I'm all right," Schneider said, but his wary voice betrayed his positive reply.

"Good to hear." Paul either didn't catch the tone or he chose to ignore it. 

"How is everyone there?"

"We're all right as well." Paul paused, before amending that statement.  
"Actually, we're not really all right. Flake isn't doing very good."

Schneider felt his heart jump into his throat.  
"What's wrong? Is he sick? What happened?"

"He's not sick; well, not really. Schneider, I know I don't have to remind you how despicable what you did was."

The silence from Schneider was enough of an acknowledgement for Paul.

"Well, since that, Flake's been a hermit, or worse than. He barely touches any food we give him, he doesn't do anything musically unless we force him to, and I'm terrified he's going to retreat so far into himself that he'll never come back out."

Schneider didn't know what to say. His heart felt like it was being shredded into pieces on hearing that.  
"Paul, I'm so--"

"Don't," Paul interrupted. "I don't really care to hear it, and I'm not the one that needs to anyway. The reason I'm calling at all is because I think Flake needs closure. He needs to be able to move forward, but he can't because he's stuck on the past right now-- on you. I want you to meet up with us, just me and Flake because frankly I think Till might still want to kill you if he sees you again. But I want you to tell him, face-to-face that you apologize, that you regret everything and that you don't love him."

Schneider made a noise that sounded like he was choking.  
"Paul, that's not, I can't--"

"I don't care to hear it," Paul interrupted again. "I don't care for your excuses or your reasonings or if you really even do love him, which I know can't be the case because of what you did. Regardless, you need to tell Flake you don't so he can go on with life. If you actually do have any care or love for him in your heart, you'd want what's best for him, right?"

"Yes," Schneider said quietly. Cold dread balled itself in his stomach as he realized there was no getting out of this.

"Good. I want you to meet us at the cafe, the one across the street from that marketplace, you remember?"

"Yes."

"Meet there at 10 tomorrow morning. It won't be a long drawn out thing; I just want you to tell him you're sorry, however you need to detail that is up to you; and that you don't have feelings for him and want him to move on."

"I could just call him, or send him a message if that's all you want me to say," Schneider offered. He was worried if he saw Flake again face to face, he'd not be able to keep his composure at all, especially if he were forced to push him away like that. If Flake were as downcast as Paul said, he didnt need the added burden of seeing Schneider crumble in front of him. 

"I thought about that, but I think he needs to hear it face to face. I don't really like it, but Flake deserves this closure."

"Yeah. He does," Schneider whispered hoarsely. 

"Good. Well, we'll see you tomorrow, then. And like I said, I'm not telling the others since I doubt they'd want Flake around you, but I think it needs to be done."

There was a few moments of silence on the phone, and then Paul added, "I really am glad to hear you're doing okay, Doom."

"You too," Schneider said quietly. 

"I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

Schneider heard the phone beep as the call ended. He felt cold and empty, even though he should feel relieved. He would get to see his friends again, and instead of wallowing in his uncertain despair, he'd get to tell Flake face to face what he had meant to tell him ever since that night. 

And as Paul said, if he truly loved Flake, he would do it: he would tell Flake he didn't love him, however painful, difficult, and untrue it might be.

Schneider gritted his teeth to force his jaw steady as he pulled up his unsent text message. He deleted the message, and called a cab to find a hotel room. He suddenly didn't feel like being around people anymore. As he rode to whatever hotel was closest, he began mentally steeling himself for the biggest lie of his life, and to never hear from his friends again


	3. An Apology of Coercion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul drags Flake into town for a meeting with Schneider.

"Flake, come on; get up. We're going to be late."

A groan escaped Flake's mouth as he blearily opened his eyes. His arms and legs felt like lead, and all he wanted to do was roll back over and go to sleep again.

"No you don't," Paul said, grabbing him as he tried to do just that. "Get up. We need to leave in the next ten minutes."

Flake frowned as he sat up. Paul was hurrying around, seemingly anxious as he looked around for his missing sock. 

"Where are we going?" Flake asked, a yawn interrupting him halfway through his sentence. 

"We're meeting Schneider," Paul said tersely. 

Instantly Flake was jolted fully awake.  
"What?"

"Get *up,* Flake," Paul insisted, pulling Flake's arm and yanking him out of bed entirely. "Go put clothes on and I'll explain on the way."

Flake hurried to the dresser, his mind racing as he tried to pick a suitable outfit. Why were they meeting Schneider? Had the band changed their minds about it all? Judging by how anxious and tense Paul seemed, Flake guessed not.

"Is everyone going?" he asked, finally deciding on a simple black button down with a red undershirt. He dressed quickly, nearly missing buttons in his hurry.

"No," Paul said, his voice tight. "Just you and me."

"Why?" Flake was struggling to get his pants zipped up as the zipper caught at the bottom. 

"I said I'll explain on the way. Why aren't you dressed yet?"

Flake angrily spun around and made a dramatic, sweeping gesture to the wide-open crotch of his pants and the offending fastener. 

Paul paused putting on his shoes, then chuckled at the sight of bothered Flake with a zipper malfunction. The tense lines on his face eased a bit when he saw his familiar Flake returning.  
"Come here, let me see," Paul said, his voice softening as well.

Flake stomped over in irritation, folding his arms as Paul inspected it.

"You jammed it," he said, fiddling with the little zipper for a moment. Paul finally freed it, and zipped up Flake's pants, patting Flake's hip gently once they were situated.  
"There."

Flake sighed and rolled his eyes at the affection, but said begrudgingly, "Danke, Paul."

"Don't mention it. Now come on. I don't want us to be late."

Flake felt a weird unease fill him at Paul's change of tone. Whatever Paul had in mind, it wasn't going to be pleasant. He insisted on brushing his teeth first, at least, which Paul grumbled about but allowed. He then followed Paul out the door, a little displeased that he didn't have the time to go through the rest of his normal getting ready routine. 

They strode in silence for a few minutes down the cobblestones. Flake kept glancing over at Paul, who was walking with very determined steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his gaze firmly fixed on the ground in front of him. 

Flake finally got up the nerve to ask, "Why are we meeting Schneider?"

Paul didn't answer for a long time, making Flake wonder if he'd even heard the question in the first place. Paul finally inhaled deeply and released the breath, sputtering it through his lips.

"Schneider wants to apologize and talk to you."

"That's it? He could easily do that on the phone. Though he's not answered the few times I tried texting him."

Paul shrugged a little. "Till warned him not to talk to you or he'd press charges."

"What the hell, are you serious? For fuck's sake, Paul!"

Paul grimaced at Flake's outburst but kept walking, his eyes stoically planted on the ground. "He was very upset about the whole thing--"

"I don't care! Where the hell does he get off thinking that's an okay thing to do? Especially without even asking me about it. And while we're on that topic, he hasn't so much as said a single word to me about what happened, much less ask how I feel or what *I* would have liked to be done. Why the hell not?"

Paul finally dragged his gaze up to Flake's, and Flake felt his anger dwindle as he saw the look in Paul's eyes. 

"Oh," Flake said, realization creeping in. He felt ashamed that he'd not made the connection earlier. "He doesn't want to think about it because of what happened to him."

Paul nodded, but said nothing. 

Flake felt like an idiot. Of course he didn't want to think or talk about it. And essentially excommunicating Schneider made perfect sense too. Flake rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, irritated that he'd been so inwardly focused that he didn't bother to wonder how Till had taken to the incident. Flake wasn't really bothered by it, at least not in the way everyone else seemed to be. His turmoil lay in thinking he'd been responsible, prodding and flirting with Schneider and not talking to him about his feelings as he should have; feeling like Schneider had pitied him to the point of wanting to bed him out of sympathy rather than attraction. Till, on the other hand, was likely focused on how Schneider had forced himself to Flake, and depending on what Schneider had told him, it could have dredged up more of Till's awful memories from his past. 

Of course Till wanted Schneider gone. He would have been a physical manifestation of one of Till's worst memories, even though this hadn't been the same situation at all. Flake needed to sit down with Till and talk about it, whether he wanted to or not.

But for now, Flake needed to focus on the present.

"What did Schneider say about meeting up?" he asked.

"He didn't, really. Just asked if we could talk so he could apologize to you."

"I see. And the others don't know?"

"No. Like I said, they're all still pretty upset."

"They don't need to be," Flake mumbled. 

"Well, then maybe you can tell them otherwise. It's hard to not be upset when all we see is you wasting away in your chair behind a book every day, refusing to speak more than a few words to anyone."

Flake bristled at the sharp comment, but recognized it came from a place of love and concern, so he held his tongue. Paul was right, anyway.

They walked in silence until they got to the cafe and sat themselves at a table beside one of the front windows. Flake felt nervous, though he couldn't pinpoint why. Schneider hadn't truly hurt him, and he felt more sure than anything else that he wouldn't do so now. So why did he feel so anxious? 

He knew the answer, of course; he just didn't want to admit it to himself. Admitting he still had feelings for Schneider, despite the mess that had happened was something he wasn't equipped to handle right now. He would let Schneider speak his peace, and then he would say whatever he felt needed to be said. It wouldn't be an admission of attraction, but he sensed he'd be unable to hold back an apology of his own, based on how guilty he still felt. Schneider deserved to feel free of his own guilt.

Paul ordered coffee for he and Flake, but Flake didn't so much as look at his mug when it came to the table. He stared out the window; but instead of his usual vacant, depressed stare, his eyes darted around anxiously, watching and keeping an alert look out for his estranged friend. 

Paul tried to keep himself busy with his coffee, putting in various sugar packets and stirring with intense focus. Flake stiffened suddenly, and Paul looked up to see Schneider's familiar form walking past the window. Paul looked over at Flake, concerned, but saw a very weird expression on his face, and it wasn't fear.

Flake's neck felt hot the moment he saw Schneider walk briskly by the window, and part of him wanted to slink away. He wasn't afraid; he was ashamed. The feelings that had crumbled him two weeks prior came thundering back to stifle him, insisting Flake was unattractive, uncared for, the object of pity. He felt worthless and small, and those feelings amplified as he watched Schneider scan the cafe for them, and then trudge over once he'd spotted them. Flake slunk a bit into his seat. Paul noticed, and patted Flake's shoulder encouragingly.

"Hey," Schneider said lamely, sitting down with them at the table. 

"Hey," Paul returned, trying to smile but finding it difficult. Flake gave a quick flash of a smile before suddenly finding his coffee to be very interesting and needing intense focus.

They sat awkwardly for a minute, no one knowing what to say to break the tension everyone clearly was feeling. Paul cleared his throat, and both Flake and Schneider looked at him expectantly. 

"Well," he started, stirring his coffee unnecessarily, "I asked Schneider to come meet us because I think it's important for us to talk."

Paul met Schneider's eyes then, searching them for a reaction as he continued, "More than anything, you owe Flake an apology. Personally I think you owe him plenty more than just an apology, but it's the least you can do."

"Paul, stop it," Flake said coldly. He didn't like someone demanding that on his behalf. It made him feel slimy and uncomfortable, and he was already feeling uncomfortable enough.

"No, he's right," Schneider's quiet voice cut in. "You deserve that, and it is the least I can do."

Schneider took a deep breath, and Flake felt his heart constrict watching the pain flickering through his friend's eyes, across his features and in his gestures. Schneider gripped his hands together on the table and looked up at Flake. He started to say something, but looked like he got choked before he could. He closed his mouth as he looked down at the table, swallowed, and then looked back up to Flake again. His eyes were brimming with tears, and Flake felt a compulsion to hold him, to stop the tears and assuage the guilt. He stayed put in his seat, though, unable to will his body to follow his desire. He wasn't sure Paul would let him even if he could.

"I'm so sorry, Flake," Schneider said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could take back everything, absolutely everything and give you the care and respect you deserve--"

Paul shuffled in his seat, coughing slightly. Schneider paused his apology, and a look passed between the other two that Flake didn't understand. 

Schneider closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, and then continued.  
"Flake, I'm sorry I tried to force myself on you. I have no idea what I was thinking, and I know the drugs weren't an excuse. I acted like an animal, and I'm so, so sorry. I also wanted to make sure you knew…"

Schneider's voice trailed off slightly, and he glanced over at Paul who simply sat with a sorrowful, but firm look. Schneider took another deep breath before saying, "I just wanted to reassure you there was nothing else behind my actions." 

It looked like Schneider was struggling to find the appropriate words for what he wanted to say as he stumbled through his little speech.  
"I didn't have any motive for what I did. It wasn't to pursue you or go after anything deeper. It was just a mistake."

Flake felt his heart turn to stone and sink in his chest. It was exactly as he expected, even though a tiny part of him had hoped never to hear it. 

"I just don't want you to have the wrong idea," Schneider muttered, now refusing to meet Flake's wounded gaze. "It wasn't for anything emotional or deeper than what it was. I'm sorry if you thought otherwise."

Flake heard the words, but something about the way Schneider was saying them now seemed particularly odd. His voice had switched from an audibly pained tone to a very flat, even monotone. He was fidgeting, his hands alternating between squeezing together and messing with the buttons on his coat. He refused to even so much as glance at Flake.

"Thank you," Flake found himself replying. He wasn't sure how he managed, but he kept talking anyway. "I appreciate your apology, but it isn't necessary."

Schneider turned his head and looked up, confused. Paul's brow furrowed as well, not expecting this from Flake.

"I don't need an apology because I don't see what happened as your fault," Flake explained. His voice was quiet, but steady, the words flowing easily as he'd tormented himself with them for weeks.  
"You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I should have--"

"No," Schneider interrupted forcefully, thumping a hand on the table. His sudden angry tone startled Flake and made his train of thought flee abruptly. 

"Don't you dare even think those words," Schneider said. "I made the mistake before of not telling you what I needed to, and I won't sit quietly now and let you try to take the blame for my fuck up. I won't let you feel even a tiny bit guilty for something I did. Do you understand me?"

Flake was shocked, open-mouthed and unsure how to respond. Paul had been startled by the sudden outburst as well, but he felt a warmth at the responsibility Schneider was taking. He was thankful his friend was stepping up like this, and it redeemed him ever so slightly in Paul's eyes because of it. 

"This was on me," Schneider said insistently. "I fucked up, not you. Don't ever think that. You're perfect, Flake; you're--"

Paul coughed roughly and scooted his chair back, silencing Schneider. While he was grateful for Schneider's words, he refused to let him press that goodwill into a platform of confession. Flake needed to move on, not be weighed down again.

"Thank you, Schneider," Paul said, making it obvious he needed to wrap things up. "It means a lot. Sincerely."

Paul looked over to Flake who'd closed his mouth and come back to himself, though still shaken.  
"Uh, yeah," he stuttered. "Thank you."

Schneider held Flake's confused gaze with his pale blue eyes, begging him silently for something, but Flake couldn't understand what. The pleading look only lasted a moment before Schneider dropped his head again. 

"I should probably go," he muttered. "Thank you for letting me talk." 

Paul stood up with Schneider, and the shorter man stuck out his hand for Schneider. He looked down at it, then slowly shook it. Paul looked truly saddened as he did so, and then heaved a sigh before reaching forward and giving Schneider a brief hug. Schneider looked suprised, but returned the hug thankfully. 

Flake was still sitting in his seat, trying to piece together Schneider's bizarre actions and words when he saw a hand reached out to him. He looked up to see Schneider offering to help him to his feet. Flake put his hand hesitantly into Schneider's and stood in front of him for a moment. Flake quietly reached forward and hugged him, carefully pressing his head down against Schneider's chest. Schneider held him tightly for a moment, then bent his head down and whispered furtively, "Please don't feel guilty anymore." With a final squeeze, Schneider stepped back, knowing Paul would get onto him if he lingered. 

"Take care of yourself, Doom," Paul called as Schneider stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and left the cafe. Schneider nodded in acknowledgement, and after a final forlorn glance at Flake who felt his soul tearing away at the look, he rounded the corner and was gone.


	4. Alternate View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider is faced with either respecting Till's ultimatum or talking to Flake again. Flake, meanwhile, finds out why Till has been avoiding him.

Schneider was only able to hold himself together for two blocks before he lost his composure. He leaned against the brick wall of a bookstore, face buried in his hands and wept. Seeing Flake and Paul again had made him acutely aware of just how alone he was now, and Flake's face...

A knifing pain tore through his heart as he remembered the shamed, guilty look Flake had held. His sorrowful blue eyes, only partially hidden behind his constantly smudged glasses; his forehead wrinkled into a worried mess; his lips pressed tightly together from the weight of unnecessary responsibility. All because of him. 

Schneider had wanted to hold him forever, not just for a brief hug; tightly assuring him that nothing was his fault. He wanted to soothe the pain he'd caused by clutching Flake to his chest and never letting go, promising to keep him safe from all terrible things. 

That physical contact had nearly unraveled Schneider right in the cafe. He'd been only a moment away from confessing his feelings, Paul's opinion be damned. But deep down, he knew Paul had a point. Flake deserved the chance to move on. He'd not mentioned anything about having any of his own feelings for Schneider, so there was no good reason for Schneider to have burdened him with a confession like that. 

Therein lay the deep root of his current emotional agony. Flake didn't care for him that way. He'd given Flake several opportunities to say it if he needed to. He'd begged him with every fiber of his being, staring into his eyes as though he could telepathically pull his true feelings out through their gaze. 

But he hadn't. Flake had just been a good friend, and Schneider had taken advantage of that.

As he angrily wiped his tears on the sleeve of his jacket, all Schneider could hope for was that his passionate speech had pulled at least some of the nonsensical guilt from Flake's mind. It still enraged him that Flake had those thoughts in the first place; he wished he were as physically self-destructive as Till so he could beat his fist against the floor or something, just to mitigate the hatred he felt against himself for making Flake feel that way.

He released a trembling breath and tried to calm down. He'd done everything he could. Since he couldn't speak to them anymore, he would just have to hope that Flake took his demand to heart. 

Schneider bristled as he remembered Till's threats to not contact Flake, though he did understand Till's concern. He just wanted to be angry at anyone except himself. He was so tired of hating himself.

His phone buzzed and distracted him from his wallowing. Schneider felt his chest tighten as he saw Flake's name pop up. He looked at the message, which read:

"Hey. Thank you for the apology. I'm sorry Paul was so standoffish. I need to talk to everyone and finally explain my side, and I'm sorry I've not done that sooner. I know Till told you not to contact me, but considering I'm a functional adult and not married to him, don't worry about that."

Schneider re-read the text several times. It felt good to have physical evidence of communication from his friend, although…

He frowned as he looked back over the message, and a creeping sense of trepidation filled him. Could this be a test? Did Paul see how difficult it was for him to lie to Flake, and then want to make sure Schneider would stay away? He wrestled internally with that suspicion, desperately wanting to believe Flake just wanted to talk to him, but terrified that it might be one of the others baiting him. 

As he went back and forth in his mind about what to do, he got another message from Flake:

"I still have your scarf. I'd like to give it back, without Paul hanging over my shoulder this time."

Schneider's heart skipped, but he maintained his wary suspicion. He slowly typed back a message.  
"Don't thank me for the apology. I just wanted you to know how sorry and regretful I am. Till has his reasons for being protective, and I don't want to push him. That said, I won't stop you if you need to give the scarf back."

He studied the message for a moment, then sent it, satisfied that he'd covered himself in case it was someone besides Flake trying to test him. 

He received a quick reply:  
"Till can go fuck himself."

Schneider felt himself grinning. It had to be Flake. He could practically hear his disgruntled voice in his head saying it. If it wasn't, Schneider decided he was willing to take the risk.

Flake texted once more:  
"I want to see you again."

Schneider stiffened as he read the message, but then reminded himself coldly that, just as he'd told Flake, there was nothing underlining that statement. Flake was his friend, his close friend, but that's where it ended. He needed to remember that.

He thought very carefully about his next message, taking several hours to go over and over it before sending it, hoping that taking this risk didn't fuck him over even further.

\-------------

"Till, can I talk to you?"

Flake rapped at Till and Richard's door, hoping they weren't balls deep in one another so he could have a proper discussion. Paul had parted ways with him after the cafe meeting because he had to speak to several people involved in their tour details. Flake had opted to just walk back to the house, and decided very quickly that he needed to go ahead and confront Till. Luckily, it seemed him having sex wasn't the case as Till opened the door, fully dressed. 

Till gave him a worried look, and Flake realized he'd not had a full conversation with him since the incident. He smiled a bit to put him at ease, but Till still seemed uneasy.  
"Are you okay?" Till asked.

Flake nodded and said, "Yeah. I just need to talk to you."

Till gave a slow nod and opened his door further for Flake to come in. "Come in."

Flake entered and saw Richard on the bed, re-stringing one of his older guitars. He looked up in suprise.  
"Hey, how are you feeling, Flake?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to Till, or I guess both of you since you're here."

Richard immediately got a concerned look on his face as well, and he set his guitar aside. Flake rubbed the back of his neck; he was uncomfortable, and it was only going to be more uncomfortable from here. 

"What's bothering you, Flake?" Till asked as he sat down beside Richard on the bed. 

Flake sat himself on a chair next to Till's writing desk, trying to think of what he wanted to say. He should have prepared for this, he thought. He knew he didn't want to bring up the meeting from earlier that day, because based on Paul's insistence on secrecy, Till had very strong feelings about it all. Hopefully he could have a rational discussion. 

"Paul mentioned that you told Schneider not to contact us," he started, watching Till's face intently.

The big man's eyes darkened, but his face stayed relatively calm.  
"No. I told him not to contact *you.* He's free to talk to whoever else he wants to."

"Did you threaten him?"

Richard shifted a bit on the bed and Till put a hand on his leg to still him.  
"No, not exactly."

"Just say it plainly," Flake demanded, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Did you threaten Schneider?"

Till's brow furrowed slightly at that, but he still kept his voice calm as he said, "I didn't threaten. I just informed him that if he tried to come near you or talk to you that I would call the authorities."

Flake simmered at that and felt his face heat up. He tried to keep his voice level, knowing Till's feelings surrounding the issue but still wanting to hear him out.  
"And what gives you the right to dictate that, especially without talking to me about it?"

Richard interrupted suddenly, "Because you wouldn't talk to us! You got back here and just refused to speak to anyone. What were we supposed to do?"

Flake saw Till tighten his grip on Richard's leg and mutter "hush" at him. Richard frowned, but obeyed. 

"Flake, we were incredibly concerned about you, and after what Schneider told us--"

"What did he tell you?"

Till huffed in slight annoyance at being interrupted, but answered quietly, "He wasn't all there, but he admitted to trying to force you to have sex."

Flake blushed a little at the memory of Schneider pressed against him, kissing him, but he dismissed it quickly to focus on Till.  
"What exactly did he say?" Flake asked firmly. "I want to know exactly what happened."

Till's jaw hardened, and Flake knew it was becoming difficult for him to continue. He waited, and Till gathered himself enough to go on.  
"When I went in the room," he said in a semi-detached way, "Schneider was sitting on the floor with blood pouring out of his nose. I grabbed him and put him against the wall and told him to tell me what he'd done. He was fucking high and had a hard time staying in the moment. I was high too, but I get focused when I'm high so I made him pay attention."

Flake's throat tightened as he asked, "What did you do to him?"

A brief flash of regret passed over Till's face at that question and he dropped his head. Richard rubbed his back with a hand but looked equally as bothered.  
"I thought he'd hurt you. I didn't know what the blood was from because he'd wiped his face and smeared it all over, so all I saw was him on the floor, pants undone with blood everywhere. I really thought he'd hurt you, Flake."

Till's breath caught and Richard switched from rubbing his back to holding his hand tightly in comfort. Till cleared his throat and looked up at Flake, resolution in his gaze. 

"I threw him against the wall and yelled at him to tell me what he did. He didn't answer, so I punched him in the gut."

Flake winced, but said nothing that would interrupt Till. He wanted him to finish.

"That made him focus. I asked him again, what did you do? It took him a second to get his breath back, but when he did he just kept repeating he was sorry."

Till pulled his hand from Richard's and rubbed his head with it before continuing, "I punched him again, and told him to tell me exactly what happened. He fell on the floor and had to catch his breath again. Then he finally said he tried to force you to have sex with him."

Till's face was now stony, and his jaw set into a hard grimace. Richard looked very worried, but his concern was directed entirely at Till. 

Flake closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to picture Schneider crumpled on the floor, bleeding and whimpering that he was sorry as Till beat him. He opened his eyes and watched as Till started trembling, and although he still felt a small glimmer of anger at how he'd flown off the handle, he knew how horribly difficult it must have been for Till to think that one of his closest friends had assaulted another of his closest friends. Added on to that, his past sexual assault.

Flake got up and walked over to the bed, then sat down next to Till and hugged him. Richard did the same, and they both enveloped Till's lightly trembling body in warmth and love. 

"I didn't know what else to do," Till said shakily. "I just left him there before I became more angry. I was scared I would start hurting him and not be able to stop. I kicked the shit out of the makeup tables, then went to Richard and told him what happened. Paul had already taken you away; Richard calmed me down and asked Oli to take care of Schneider. Once I came down from the coke and was calm, that's when I texted Schneider and told him not to contact you again or I'd press charges."

Till grunted at the memory, but had stopped shaking, the combined pressure of both Flake and Richard's bodies having soothed him.  
"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you, Flake. I was worried I would say something wrong, or not be able to talk about it without, you know…" he waved a hand in the air vaguely, "seizing up or worse."

Flake sat back and patted Till's shoulder comfortingly. He felt no ill will toward the man, even though he'd acted rashly. He had done it out of love and concern, and that was very obvious to him.

"Can I tell you what happened on my end?" Flake asked Till politely, but knew the answer before the words had left his mouth. 

Till gave a sad sigh. "I can't handle it tonight, Flake. I know I look like a stone-cold bastard, but I actually have some emotions. They're a bit strained now."

"I didn't think so. I just wanted to ask."

Till turned to him and asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

Flake gave him a bitter smile. "As fine as I can be. I feel better than I have been, let's say that."

Till looked legitimately relieved by that, and Flake knew that even though he hadn't been able to get up the courage to talk to Flake, he still had been deeply concerned about him.

"I'm going to go out tonight. It's been too long since I've been out walking. Let me know if you want me to grab anything.

The two smiled softly at him as he got up and went to the door. 

"Be sure to let us know if you need anything too, Flake," Richard called after him. 

Flake nodded in acknowledgement to them as he left. The moment he rounded the corner into his room, he pulled his phone out and read a new message from Schneider.

"I can meet you tonight at 10, down at the park next to the old bakery."

Flake's face set into a determined look as he texted back:

"I'll be there."


	5. A New Kind of Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till is withdrawn, and Richard is forced to come up with a different kind of punishment to pull him out of his reluctance to talk.

Till was pouting. 

Or, more accurately, Till was wallowing. As soon as Flake left, Richard watched Till immediately get up and then flop down at his writing desk, pulling out his little black notebook for poetry and songwriting. He started scribbling furiously, and Richard knew he was trying to write down his raw emotions while they were still fresh and painful.

He'd made the mistake of interrupting Till once before when he was writing in such a state. Till had all but bared his teeth at him like a tiger protecting its kill. Richard quickly learned it was best to let Till get it all out onto his pages before trying to coax him into talking, even if it irked him that Till chose his notebook over communicating with his boyfriend.

The night of the incident between Schneider and Flake, Till had been exceptionally closed off after their small band meeting. Richard wanted nothing more than to hold him and comfort him, but Till insisted on writing until well past daybreak, when he finally laid down his pen and staggered to bed. He didn't wake for 10 straight hours, worrying Richard sick. But once he'd gotten up, he seemed as normal as could be expected. Dismal, but under the circumstances, Richard considered it a normal response. 

Richard stifled a yawn and decided to get a quick nap in while Till worked. He hadn't slept particularly well last night, though he couldn't figure out why. His eyelids drooped at he watched Till slave over his writing, and he finally drifted off to sleep.

When he woke next, the shadows were long across the room, and he was very groggy. A glimpse at the clock told him he'd been asleep way too long. He grunted unhappily at himself and sat up, looking for Till. 

He was still hunched over his notebook.

Richard stared, a bit disgruntled at his boyfriend. Till's brow scrunched with the effort of penning his feelings into moving words. He knew Till wouldn't be worth trying to speak to until he finished, so Richard went back to grumpily stringing his guitar.

He became very focused, each string needing to be set and tightened perfectly, and then turned further once they were in place. Richard spent many very careful minutes that somehow turned into hours plucking the strings and turning his head to listen to the notes, adjusting them bit by bit until they sounded spot on. Even after he knew they were exactly in tune, he still fiddled with them a few more times each until a voice brought him out of his tuning reverie. 

"You can't make them more in tune than perfect, Rich."

Richard looked up and saw Till gazing at him, slouched back in his desk chair with a soft smile on his face.

"What? Oh, the strings. I just like being sure, you know?"

"I've been listening. You were sure 15 minutes ago. You're just doing the same tuning over and over."

"It's just how I do it," Richard protested. 

"But why? If you know it's fine, why keep doing it?"

Richard shrugged. "I've always done this. It makes me feel good to do it this way, even if it's weird or not how everyone else does it."

The last few words of his statement were said more slowly as comprehension dawned on Richard. Just as he had his methods for things that made him feel good, Till had his own. What was tuning and re-tuning for him was withdrawing and writing for Till. It made so much more sense when he could see it in parallel with his own habit.

Till just shrugged good-naturedly and walked over to him, planting a kiss on the top of his head.  
"Whatever makes you happy," he said.

Richard smiled warmly at the affection, then reached for Till's face and pulled him down for a proper kiss. 

Till made a happy noise, then when Richard pulled away, he asked teasingly, "What was that for?"

Richard shrugged back at him and said, "I just appreciate you letting me be happy."

"Oh, is that all? Well I'll be sure to do that more often if I get kissed for it."

Till leaned in again, and Richard smiled, but gently pushed him back.  
"I really want to talk to you," he said firmly, but almost apologetically.

Till's pleasant mood sank at that.  
"What about?"

"About why you won't let Flake tell his side of the story."

Till grunted and sat down on the bed, roaming his hand absently across Richard's thigh. Richard tried very hard to focus on why he wanted Till to talk to him, rather than the fact that he'd not had sex in several days. They'd been very busy, constantly speaking to people involved with their tours and bookings, and having to explain that their drummer was very ill and incapable of finishing the tour.

Till slid his hand directly to Richard's crotch, making him stiffen: both his spine and his, well, manhood. 

"Enough, Till," he insisted, moving Till's hand away. "Do I need to be strict with you?"

One look over at Till's glinting eyes answered that question with a resounding "yes." Till had been especially stubborn lately, and though they'd made good progress communicating, Till had shifted into more of a brat than a willing sub taking his punishments. It puzzled Richard, so he'd done some research. 

Combined with his own knowledge of Till's needs and wants, he figured that Till was becoming comfortable with pain as a punishment, and it wasn't having the same effects anymore. He'd even become aroused the last time Richard had beaten him in order to loosen his tongue, so it clearly had stopped being an effective punishment. Plus, Till had developed a bit of an attitude with him recently. Whether it were from the stress of the upset of their band or from something else, Richard wasnt sure. What he *was* sure of was that Till needed something different. 

"Are you okay with trying out a different kind of punishment?" Richard asked, getting up from the bed and hunting through his special luggage case.

"Ja," Till said, and the taunting edge in his voice stirred Richard to conviction. He had several good ideas, and plenty of time in which to try them. 

"Good. Then for the rest of the day, you're mine. You'll do as I say until you need to use your safe word. If you can't speak, tap the floor three times. If you can't move your legs or arms, nod your head three times for me to stop. Understood?"

Till smirked, and said with a hint of sass, "Yes sir."

"You won't address me as "sir" today," Richard clarified. He felt satisfied as Till's smirk became puzzled. "You will call me "master."

Richard watched as he saw the tiniest, briefest narrowing of Till's eyes, but he quickly smoothed his expression and responded obediently, "Yes, master."

"Good boy."

Another quick squint at Richard's use of the diminutive "boy," but Till otherwise had no reaction to it. Richard pulled out Till's familiar collar and tossed it at him carelessly as he continued to root through the trunk. Till flinched and barely caught it, suprised by the sudden throw. He started to put it on when Richard snapped his fingers at him and said sharply, "Stop. Drop it, Till."

Till's eyes widened and he immediately dropped the collar by the bed. He was startled and wary, and that's how Richard wanted him. Till had become too comfortable, even eager for his "punishments." He needed to be thrown off balance a bit. 

"Take off your clothes and put them away, then go sit in the corner with your back to me and nose pressed against it until I say otherwise. 

Till looked absolutely befuddled at the command, but got up and obeyed anyway. 

Richard snapped his fingers at him again to get his attention and said, "Excuse me? I don't think I heard you respond properly."

"Yes, master," Till amended as he nodded and went over to the corner, shedding his clothes as he went. He placed them neatly in the nearby dresser and sat down on the floor, giving one last confused look back at Richard before leaning his head into the corner.

Richard pulled out the various pieces of equipment he wanted to use over the course of the day, including a gag, blindfold, various cuffs, a bowl, and a few lengths of soft rope. Till wouldn't be receiving physical pain as punishment today, but mental and emotional punishment. 

Richard caught Till glancing over curiously at him as he pulled out the equipment.  
"Did I say you could remove your face from the corner."

Till immediately pressed his nose back and said, "No, master."

"Well, it looks like you need some help obeying, then."

Richard took the blindfold and leather cuffs over to Till, stopping to pick up his collar along the way. Richard meticulously fastened each one onto Till, putting the man's hands behind his back to be cuffed, and in turn connecting the cuffs to the collar with a short leather leash. He then slid the blindfold in place and set Till's forehead against the corner. 

"You're going to stay here until I get back. Do not move, and do not make noise. Do you understand?"

Though a bit disoriented from the blindfold, Till cocked his head and obediently said, "Yes, master."

"Good boy. I'm going to go out to eat, and if you're still here and haven't moved when I get back, I'll give you a treat. Would you like that?"

Till shuffled slightly as he again said "yes, master," and Richard could tell he was a bit uneasy at this foreign type of punishment. But he wasn't uncomfortable, and Richard had taken care to make the bonds loose enough for him. All of his equipment was safety rigged as well. If there were an emergency, Till could break them with some ease and free himself as they'd discussed in the past when Richard purchased it all.

"Very good. I'll be back in a few hours."

Till jerked at that, just as Richard had expected. He knew Till assumed he'd been gone a few minutes, hopefully bringing him back some food. But then it wouldn't have been a punishment, and he knew Till was slowly realizing that as well. He gave Till a minute to process that, and speak up if he needed to. When he didn't, Richard pet his head softly before walking away.

"Be a good boy," Richard called as he left the room, locking the door behind him.

\-------------

Richard returned a little over 3 hours later, having gotten his food quickly and deciding he needed more time alone. He loved Till without question and adored his company, but every now and then he craved a few hours to be by himself. This punishment for Till was a perfect opportunity to do so. He'd eaten his food and then gone to see a movie, one of his favorite things to do alone. He liked seeing movies with Till on occasion, but it usually ended up with furtive touches and playful pawing at one another. 

When he got back to the house, he kicked off his shoes at the door and unlocked the door to his and Till's room. He heard a faint shuffling as he did so, and was suspicious that Till had not obeyed his orders.

But when he got inside, Till was sitting nearly in the exact same position as when he'd left. His legs had shifted, likely to keep circulation in them, and Richard didn't mind that. 

"Did you behave while I was gone, boy?" Richard asked lightly, tossing his jacket onto the bed. "You can turn around and answer me now."

Till awkwardly shuffled himself to face Richard and leaned back heavily against the wall. His blindfold was still in place, as were his hands behind his back, tied to his collar. 

"Yes, master," Till said, his voice a little rough from disuse, and probably thirst. "I stayed right here."

"Good boy," Richard praised, walking over and ruffling Till's hair fondly. Till sighed and leaned into the affection, nearly knocking Richard over as he didn't have his hands for balance.

"Easy," he commanded, setting Till back. He unlocked the cuffs and untied them from his collar. Till stretched his arms gratefully and rubbed his shoulders as Richard set the equipment aside. 

"May I take off my blindfold now?" Till asked, already reaching for it. Richard slapped his hand, startling him. He slunk back from the blow and hung his head obediently.

"No, you may not. And you are still to address me as Master. Understand?"

"Yes, master."

Richard smiled and patted his head again.  
"I brought you back some food because you were good," he said, unpacking the paper bag he'd picked up on the way home. 

An immediate growling from Till's stomach nearly made Richard laugh.  
"How long since you've eaten?"

Till hesitated, unsure what he was allowed to say.

"You can answer me."

"I didn't eat breakfast. I think it was dinner last night that I ate last, master."

"So you're probably very hungry, huh?"

Till nodded quickly and said, "Yes, Master."

"Well, good thing you behaved, because I brought some exceptionally good food. I know how much you love Thai, so I got you some Curry and Pad Thai."

Till swallowed and Richard smiled at the sound of his stomach gurgling again. He was practically drooling when Richard unpacked the food. 

"You may take off your blindfold now," Richard instructed. "But stay put. I'm going to dish out your food."

Till hurriedly took off the blindfold and squinted at the light in the room. Richard was pleased at his reaction; it meant he'd kept the blindfold on as he was supposed to.

"May I stand up, master?" he asked, probably expecting to get up and eat at the desk. 

"No, just stay put. I said I'm going to dish it out for you."

Till waited, his confusion even more visible as Richard began spooning out the food into a bowl. Richard grinned as he saw the metaphorical light bulb switch on for Till. 

"That's right. You're going to eat on the floor tonight; no hands either. You're being punished, remember? You're using sex as a distraction and it needs to stop. If you act like an animal, you'll be treated like one."

Till looked as though he wanted to protest, his face tightening at the idea of eating like an animal, but he stayed silent. 

"Come," Richard commanded, snapping his fingers. "And stay on your hands and knees. 

He definitely saw a glower from Till at that added stipulation. Richard raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say something or protest. But, like a good sub, Till remained quiet and obeyed, crawling carefully over to Richard's side. 

"Good pet, good boy," Richard crooned, leaning down and kissing Till's head. It was a little sweaty, he noted. It must have gotten warm while he was away. 

Richard set the bowl of curry and noodles down on the floor in front of Till. Though Richard saw him lean a bit toward the food, he waited for Richard to instruct him further. Richard felt proud of him for waiting. 

"All right, go ahead and eat. Remember not to use your hands."

Till leaned down, attempting at first to be very gentle and careful with his bites, so as not to get his face covered in food. Richard sat back and watched in fascination as Till fought with his sense of pride against his gnawing hunger. He grunted with the effort of trying to daintily nip at the noodles without getting the curry everywhere. 

"Just eat it, Till," Richard said in a quiet voice, encouraging him. "The only one who cares how you eat is you."

Till sat back and pondered that for a moment, silently debating with himself. He huffed, and then greedily pressed his face into the bowl. Richard watched happily as Till dug in, and saw that Till's neck and face had flushed red in embarrassment. 

Good. 

He was enduring the punishment and breaking through his mental barriers at Richard's behest. Small humiliations and submissions now would make breaking through his emotional barriers later that much easier, Richard suspected. 

Till wolfed down his food with suprising speed. He really had been hungry, Richard noted. Till finally sat back, almost panting and out of breath from how quickly he ate. His face was coated with smeared curry. He looked up at Richard, and he saw Till's face flush yet again. He was thoroughly embarrassed with himself.

Richard, feeling his heart swell at the sight of how obedient Till was for him, bent down and pulled Till's face into a kiss, despite the mess.

"You can get up now," Richard said when he pulled back.

He helped Till stand to his feet. The big man was slightly wobbly, and Richard immediately held his arm to steady him. Till looked thankful, and Richard unbuckled the collar from his neck and let it fall the floor. He hugged Till tightly, reaffirming what a good job he'd done, that the punishment was over and how much he loved him. Till sighed into the embrace and loosely hugged him back. The punishment had taken a toll on him, physically and emotionally; and even though that's exactly what Richard knew needed to be done, he was eager to get into the after care and smothering of love he knew Till also needed. 

"Come on; let's go take a shower," he said, tugging Till's hand along with him to the door. 

"I don't have any clothes on," Till said shyly.

"Everyone's in bed by now I'm sure," Richard assured. "Come on. That curry's going to stain your face or something."

Till's mouth quirked into a smile at that and he followed Richard out of their bedroom and down the hallway. 

As they passed the front door, both were startled to see Flake standing in the doorway, nearly hitting them as he came around the corner. 

Flake sputtered a bit, apparently startled himself. His eyes flicked from Richard to Till, and upon seeing Till's face and neck and part of his chest covered in streaks of smeared food, he grinned. 

"Having a fun night?" he asked, causing Till to blush strongly and duck his head. Richard pulled Till around the corner and shooed him toward the bathroom. Richard then glared at Flake, who simply looked amused at the situation. 

"A bit rude, Flake," Richard grumbled as he pushed past the thinner man. 

"Maybe don't run around late at night with your naked boyfriend after covering his face with food, then," Flake called after him. The bathroom door slammed in response, and Flake chuckled again as he went to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! 
> 
> I'm feeling especially chatty with the lockdown/quarantine/social distancing nonsense, so if you're up for it, I'd love to hear one thing you would like to see happen in this segment of the fic! I have it pretty well planned out so far, but I'm always up for new ideas, plus I just love talking and hashing out ideas.
> 
> I won't be spoiling anything, and I can't guarantee I'll use whatever ideas y'all come up with, but I promise I'll have a chat with you if you bring any to me! 
> 
> If you want to be anonymous, I've got that feature on my Tumblr, too! It's a lot easier to have a back and forth there as well, and keeps the comments here specifically for what has gone on in this chapter. 
> 
> Anyway. Just throwing that out there for you all. I hope you're enjoying so far!
> 
> -NikoNotHere  
> (same for Tumblr)


	6. Another Secret Tryst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake sneaks out to meet Schneider

Flake fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. It had a loose string that was driving him crazy. He couldn't pull it because it was one his favorite button downs, and he didn't want to risk the whole thing unraveling. But the dangling string was maddening, taunting him by sticking out of the bottom hem of the shirt. He grunted angrily and tucked the string under the hem, hoping if he didn't see it, he might be less irked by it. 

"Your shirt bothering you, princess?"

Flake started at the sudden voice next to him, then narrowed his eyes at Schneider's grinning face. 

"You aren't funny," Flake grumbled with a sniff as he looked away. He was sitting on a park bench, a little ways away from a street lamp. It cast long shadows across the park, including Schneider's that lay stretched in front of the bench. He watched the shadow move across the ground, and then felt the bench move slightly as Schneider sat next to him. 

"Don't be grumpy," Schneider chided, sliding his arm lightly around Flake's shoulders. "It's unbecoming."

Flake rolled his eyes but returned the hug briefly.  
"I have your scarf." He moved away from the hug and dug the checkered material from his coat pocket. He offered it to Schneider who took it with a smirk.

"Oh, good. Amongst all the shit that's been going on, that scarf was definitely at the top of my list of concerns."

Flake smiled, then turned his head to look at Schneider. "I could have not brought it at all, asshole."

Schneider continued smirking and cocked an eyebrow as he said, "And then what excuse would you have to meet with me against Till's wishes?"

Flake's half smile faded as he thought of Till and his demands. "Fuck Till's wishes," he spat.

Schneider pursed his lips as he watched Flake's mood sour.  
"Hey, don't worry about it," he said, patting Flake's shoulder. "Like you said, you're not married to the man. He can't control you. Besides, you'd make a terrible wife."

Schneider laughed as Flake both snorted out a chuckle and tried to push him right off the bench. He held tight to the back of the bench and laughed even harder as Flake huffed and crossed his arms when the pushing failed to dislodge him. 

"Relax, princess. I'm sure you would be a wonderful wife."

Schneider dodged Flake's playful punch and grabbed his arm, raising his eyebrow at him again challengingly. He saw Flake's demeanor suddenly change completely from a flippant, joking one to... well, one he couldn't identify. But Flake's eyes went wide, and that was enough for Schneider to drop his arm and move over on the bench to give him some space.

"Sorry," Schneider muttered, embarrassed that he was so tactless. As far as he knew, Flake was still damaged by his awful actions only two weeks ago, and the physical contact was going too far.

But Flake waved his hand awkwardly and shook his head.  
"No, no, you're fine. Sorry. It's just-- I d-dont, it--" Flake stuttered, a blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. 

Damn his fucking body, Flake thought angrily as he tried to will his mouth to form proper words. He took a deep breath and attempted to relax his thoughts that had suddenly gone haywire at Schneider's hold; he needed blood in his damn brain, not down in the south of his body or blushing all over his face.

"I missed you," Flake finally said, a little suprised that he managed the sentence without a stutter. "It's fucked up what Till did to you, and I'm sorry."

"I take it he told you what happened, then," Schneider said, a statement rather than a question. 

Flake nodded, and he wanted to put a hand on Schneider's arm or shoulder in comfort but stopped himself. He really needed to not overstep; Schneider had made it very clear there were boundaries when he told Flake his feelings, or lack thereof. He acknowledged only to himself that he already craved Schneider's closeness and touch, but he refused to let it consume his thoughts. Though admittedly, it was becoming harder and harder to do. 

"Don't feel badly about it," Schneider said with a sigh. "It was pretty deserved. I'm still so sorry--"

Flake shook his head and interrupted him, saying, "Please don't. I don't agree that you hurt me, and you clearly won't agree that you didn't, so I don't think it helps anything to keep apologizing in circles."

Schneider gave him a pained look, but slowly nodded in agreement. Better to leave it at a mutual disagreement than argue.

Flake shrugged, then smiled softly.  
"Want to go for a walk?"

Schneider nodded.  
"Of course."

They strolled around the quiet park, passing almost no one at the late hour. Schneider walked with his hands in his pockets after throwing on his scarf Flake had given back to him. Flake ambled along in his normal way, which to him always felt a bit gangly and awkward. He only felt truly comfortable on the secluded forest paths out in the middle of nowhere; preferably naked, but that was becoming harder and harder to do. He loved the freedom that came with knowing not a single person was within several dozen kilometers, which meant he felt no shame or self consciousness. 

He felt a nudge at his side, and he looked over to see Schneider giving him an amused look.

"I see your sense of style is just as impeccable as always. Is that your "fuck off" t-shirt under the button down?"

Flake glanced down at himself, then sighed in irritation.  
"Yes. It is. Paul yanked me out the door this morning with barely enough time to get dressed. I guess I grabbed the wrong undershirt."

"No, no, I think it suits you. It's perfectly symbolic of you, in fact "

At Flake's quizzical stare, Schneider continued, "A very nice, professional outward demeanor, well-tailored and pleasant to look at, with a big, bold, "Fuck You" on the inside."

Flake laughed at that, a genuine, happy laugh that made Schneider's chest warm. Flake's laugh was a gift, Schneider thought to himself; it needed to be shared more often. And even though he would love to spend the evening making Flake laugh, there were some things he needed to ask and get off his chest first. 

"So, have I been replaced yet?" The question was asked flippantly with a note of indifference, but Flake could plainly tell it was something bothering Schneider immensely. 

"No," he reassured. "They only just canceled the rest of the tour, at least from what I've overheard. They're claiming you're ill. I've not really been part of the band discussions lately."

Schneider looked over with a frown. "And why not? You're as much a part of the band as any of them."

"No, it was my choice," Flake said, grimacing. "I haven't been myself these past few weeks. It didn't feel like Rammstein without you, and I didn't want much to do with it."

Schneider gave his friend a concerned glance.  
"Are you okay, Flake?"

With a slight smile, Flake turned and said, "Much better now."

The warmth in Schneider's chest spread throughout his body, and reached over to give Flake a hug.  
"Same."

The two walked in a half hug for a bit before Schneider let go to continue asking his harder questions. He needed to get them over with, even if they were uncomfortable. 

"Do you think I'll ever have a chance to come back?"

Flake pondered that for a moment. He knew Paul's heart had softened when Schneider took full responsibility, even so far as being upset at Flake himself for feeling guilty. But he had no idea whether the rest would have any similar change of heart without both time and reparations. What kind of reparations, Flake didn't know. He hoped that simply telling them it wasn't how it looked would help, but he doubted it. Schneider confessing to it himself was damning, even if it hadn't been exactly as he'd said.

"I don't know," Flake answered truthfully. "I know if they do, it'll take some time, even if I explain everything."

Schneider nodded miserably. He fully understood the ramifications of his actions, but that didn't make it any less difficult to accept them. 

Flake rubbed a hand on his shoulder, and Schneider's disgust at himself eased, ever so slightly.

"I'll talk to them," Flake reassured. "It'll take time, but I know they won't outright ignore what I have to say."

"You really don't need to."

"Of course I don't. I want to."

Schneider felt his heart swell at those words. After another few minutes of quiet, comfortable walking, he dug around in the pocket of his coat and took out a folded paper. He handed it to Flake with a rueful smile. 

"I found something in my luggage you might like," he said.

Flake curiously unfolded the paper, then groaned and put a hand over his face in shame. Schneider started laughing loudly at his reaction.

"Where on earth did you find this, and why the hell did you keep it?" Flake protested. 

It was a very, very old photo of the two of them, probably when they were barely out of their teens. Schneider had wild, frizzy hair that was sticking out all over the place and was leaning on Flake's shoulder with a very serious look on his face. Flake in the other hand had what had been jokingly referred to as his "mushroom" hair-- a very unflattering bowl cut that did indeed have a very mushroom-like appearance. He was giving a very goofy smile to the camera with his giant, hideous black glasses on his nose. He couldn't tell exactly where the picture had been taken, but it looked like a car or van.

"I've got quite a few old pictures," Schneider said, still chuckling at Flake's disgusted face as he studied the photograph. "That one just stuck out to me for some reason.

"Because I look absolutely hideous," Flake said in annoyance, "and you look like you belong in elementary school."

"We were babies," Schneider acknowledged. "Can you believe we've known each other for that long?"

"No. It's a very unreal thing to think about. Most people don't stay in touch with their childhood friends, much less form bands and stay together for decades."

Flake winced as he realized the implication of the phase "stay together," but Schneider didn't acknowledge it. Flake tried to give back the photograph but Schneider shook his head.

"Keep it. Like I said, I've got quite a few. If nothing else, you can use it as a reminder to keep your hair in check."

Schneider laughed as he dodged another swat from Flake. The two walked and talked for another hour and a half, chatting about anything that came to mind and just enjoying one another's company. When it drew up near to midnight, they made their way back to the edge of the park. 

"Thank you for asking to see me again," Schneider said.

"Please, it wasn't a bother whatsoever. Like you said, I've got no obligation to listen to Till, and for now, what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Do you think you'll be able to come up with another reason to have lunch or something with me?"

Flake felt his heart flutter at the request, but tried to keep the feeling clamped down.  
"I'm sure I can manage something," he said coyly. 

Schneider smiled softly at him, and Flake returned the smile. They hugged and said goodbye, and Flake wondered if Schneider held the hug just a bit longer and tighter than normal, but he again dismissed the idea.

"Take care of yourself," Flake said as Schneider walked away.

Schneider gave him a faux salute with two fingers and called back sarcastically, "Take care of your hair. Make sure you don't lose that picture."

Flake smiled all the way back to the flat, fingering the photograph in his pocket and pulling it out to look at it every so often. He continued to wonder why Schneider had chosen that particular photo to give him. Was it just to poke fun of his hair? If that had been it, Flake knew there was certainly an ample amount of even worse hairstyles Schneider could have picked to torment him with. 

He got back to the apartment late, and sure that everyone was asleep by then. He told Paul not to wait up for him since he would be out hiking late; he knew that Oli was staying with his girlfriend; and he guessed Till and Richard had already passed out. He quietly turned the key in the front door and carefully opened it, making sure not to let it creak as he closed it behind him.

Flake released a sigh, pleased that his little secret meeting had gone so well. He was about to round the corner to go to his room when Richard and a very naked Till hurried down the hallway and almost right into him. 

He sputtered, frightened and discombobulated at seeing the two so suddenly. Flake hurriedly looked to Till, afraid he might somehow know he'd been with Schneider. Till ducked his head and tried to hide behind Richard for some reason, which caused Flake to note the smears of what looked like food all over him. 

Flake grinned, seizing the opportunity to turn their focus to themselves.  
"Having a fun night?" he taunted, pleased when Till shuffled down the hallway without a word to him.

Richard glared at him.  
"A bit rude, Flake," he grumbled, following Till to the bathroom. 

"Maybe don't run around late at night with your naked boyfriend after covering his face with food, then," Flake called after him. Richard gave him another irritated look, then slammed the bathroom door behind them. 

Satisfied that they'd not be questioning his late return, Flake plodded to his own room. He gently opened the door in case Paul was sleeping, and saw him sprawled in the recliner with a book on his lap. He'd fallen asleep reading. 

Flake smiled at his friend, and knowing Paul hated being woken up even in awkward sleeping positions, simply draped a blanket over him to keep him comfortable. 

Flake undressed and got ready for bed, forgoing his normal nightly routine as he heard the shower still running and felt especially exhausted. As he curled himself up under the covers, he set the photograph inside the book on his nightstand as a bookmark. He fell asleep with the image of young Schneider, his messy head of hair resting gently on Flake's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the photograph I was referencing
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/xWHroaJ


	7. Aftercare, Cleanup, and Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a thorough cleaning, Richard coaxes Till into talking about his hesitations regarding Flake.

Richard scrubbed at Till's chest and neck, making sure to get the last clinging bits of curry off. Till sighed in bliss, his head drooped forward under the steaming shower water. Richard smiled in satisfaction at a job well done as he rinsed the soap from his boyfriend's body.

Till practically melted into his arms. Richard could see he was exhausted, mentally and physically, and was soaking up every last bit of attention Richard gave him. He covered his partner in kisses, soft touches and affection until Richard felt like he was going to burst from the love that he felt. 

"All right," he said, finally pulling away from the watery snuggles. "How do you feel?"

"S'good," Till murmured, trying to lean up against him. Richard held him upright and smiled at him, then shut off the water from the shower head. Till moved to get out of the shower, but Richard held him. 

"Stay," he said gently.

Till looked at him quizzically as Richard turned the faucet for the bathtub on and began filling the tub with hot water. 

"I'm pretty well clean already," Till said, a bit puzzled. 

"I know. This is just to sit and relax in."

Till gave him a tired but pleased smile, then sunk back down into the tub. It took some maneuvering, but Richard managed to slide in behind him, legs pushed up on either side of his broad body. They sat quietly in the tub as it filled up, enjoying the closeness of one another in the rising steamy water. 

"Now," Richard said gently as he leaned forward and switched off the water, "Tell me why you don't want to talk to Flake."

Richard felt before he heard the bothered rumble from Till's chest. He rubbed Till's shoulder comfortingly.  
"Come on. You just spent most of the day being punished for not talking to me. You can do it. I'm not going to judge you or critique you for your feelings, you know."

"I know," Till said, but his voice still sounded hesitant. 

"Go ahead, then." Richard looped his arms around Till and hugged him, pressing his head against the back of the man's neck. 

Till took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before speaking up.  
"I'm afraid I made a mistake with Schneider," he said softly. 

Richard was quiet, allowing him to continue at his own pace.

"I know I shouldn't have done the coke, for one thing. You told me as much and I didn't listen. I just wanted to have a fun night with you."

Richard nodded his head but still said nothing. Till had already apologized profusely, many many times after that night for disregarding Richard's wishes for him to stay away from cocaine. Richard had forgiven him easily; he of all people knew the pull of drugs and how difficult it was to say no sometimes. It hadn't been enough for Till, though, and the beating he'd begged from Richard had left him stiff and bruised for several days. Even still, Richard heard notes of guilt lacing his voice, but he knew those would ease with time.

"I'm afraid I acted too harshly," he sighed, playing in the bath with a hand. He cupped water into one of his massive palms, and then spread his fingers to let it trickle out between them and back into the bath.  
"I'm afraid I just reacted on instinct and not on reason, and that it might be too late to go back and fix."

"Do you mean by hurting Schneider or by kicking him out of the band?"

"Both," Till said miserably. "I've not spoken to him since I told him he's not welcome with us anymore, so I don't even know if he's ok physically. I don't think I hurt him that badly, but I don't know for sure."

"Paul has been keeping in contact with his family, from what he's said. Supposedly Schneider is fine, at least physically."

Till grunted, and Richard knew it was a noise of relief.  
"Still," he said with some regret, "I don't know if I did the right thing. I think I'm afraid that what Flake says will prove that it was a mistake."

"You did what you thought you needed to based on the information you had at the time," Richard said, rubbing one of his hands across Till's chest comfortingly.  
"He literally told you he tried to force himself on Flake. There's not really many different ways to interpret that kind of confession. To be honest, you showed a lot of restraint."

"I wanted to kill him," Till said flatly.

Richard felt a small chill at the man's serious words.

"I wanted to hurt him until there was nothing left to hurt. I know part of that was the coke, but the part that wasn't is what scares me. There was part of me, deep down that wanted to kill him."

Richard squeezed Till in an attempt to soothe him, and loosen the muscles that were already stiffening and tightening in stress across his boyfriend's body. 

"It's hard to say what part of you that was, or if it *was* even you when your mind is high on drugs," Richard said. "I remember thinking and planning things that absolutely terrified me when I was doing heroin. I thought I was just a terrible person and the drugs just uncovered it all, but the reality was the drugs brought all of that onto me. It wasn't actually me."

When Till said nothing in response, Richard continued, "In the moment it seems so real, so *you.*"  
Richard shook his head. "It isn't. Thank god it isn't, or I'd be one of the most fucked up people on the planet."

Till humphed at that, and turned his head to look at Richard with a frown.  
"You know you're as perfect as they come, scholle," he said.

Richard simply shrugged and said, "And that's how I feel about you. It's so much easier to see the good in someone from the outside. You're more objective than the person who feels they're not."

Till mulled that over for a moment, and had to concede the point. 

"Is that all that's bothering you? You feel worried you made a mistake in banishing Schneider, and that you wanted to hurt him?"

"Isn't that enough?"

Richard chuckled and planted a kiss on the back of Till's head. "You know what I mean. Is there anything else that's bothering you and not letting you give Flake the chance to speak?"

"Well, in a more rational concern, I'm afraid Flake's affinity for Doom probably clouded his view of what happened. I think when he looks back, he'll be tempted to sugar coat it."

"Do you really think he liked him that much?" Richard asked skeptically. "I thought he just wanted to have sex. Maybe that's where it went wrong. Schneider found out and after getting high, ended up being a little too eager about it. Probably felt guilty afterward because he scared Flake. He's known for being especially self-punishing when he feels he's hurt someone."

Till gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "That's true. I really don't know. Flake isn't one to have sex just for fun, though; at least not anymore. He rarely has sex at all, so it was suprising he even had interest in the first place. I just encouraged him to go for it because it's been so long for him."  
Till's face twisted into a pained grimace. "What if my encouraging him to have sex started that whole thing?"

Richard shook his head as he squeezed Till even tighter.  
"Nonsense. Flake does what he wants; you know that. If anything, he probably dismissed your advice just on the basis of him being Flake."

"That's definitely possible."

"I think," Richard said, stroking Till's wet hair, "that you should just listen to what Flake has to say. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you didn't; you won't know until you ask, and if so, then you can figure out how to fix it. In my opinion, you acted appropriately with the information you had at the time. Don't stress too much about it."

With that, he kissed the back of Till's head and stretched, releasing a loud groan as his muscles lengthened.

"You're probably right," Till conceded.

Richard got up from the bath and helped Till up as well. After draining the tub, he grabbed one of their towels and began rubbing briskly all over Till, who protested at first.

"I can dry myself off, thank you," he tried to insist. 

"Nope. I want to do it. I like taking care of you every now and then."

With a grumble, Till acquiesced, but Richard caught a slight smile that he tried to hide. Till loved the affection, and could only hide it under a gruff exterior for so long before his true feelings peeked out. Richard adored seeing it every time it happened. 

"All right, come on then, love. Let's go snuggle in bed and hope we don't bump into nosey Flake again."

Till snorted, but turned a little pink. It was absolutely adorable, Richard thought as he wrapped a towel around Till's waist and then his own. He was the luckiest man alive, to be sure.

The flat was quiet as they tiptoed down the hallway to their room, fortunately not running into Flake or anyone else this time. The two then climbed into bed, naked and too tired to put on any clothes to sleep in. 

As they cuddled together and began to fall into a comforting sleep, Richard felt sadness lurking in the back of his mind. What if Flake had been searching for love of his own? Though he'd at first been sure Flake was just looking to get laid, the more he went over it, the less likely it seemed that Flake had just been horny. 

He couldn't remember the last time Flake had specifically pursued someone, even just for sex; much less worried about whether he truly liked someone or not. From what Till had recounted, he made it sound like a crush. But when Richard really thought about it, a simple crush didn't sound like Flake at all. What if he tried to explain his feelings to Schneider, who'd simply taken them the wrong way because of the cocaine?

What if Flake loved Schneider the way he loved Till?

That question gnawed at his barely conscious mind until he fell asleep, still worrying away at the thought while enveloped in Till's warm, strong arms.


	8. Old Memories, Older Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul reminisces about life before Rammstein

When Paul woke up, it was still dark, and he was getting a severe crick in his neck from sleeping on a chair. He grimaced and stretched, rolling his neck to try and ease the cramped muscles. 

He suddenly remembered why he'd fallen asleep in the chair, and looked over at Flake's bed. He was relieved to see Flake's curled up form underneath a pile of blankets. Paul had fallen asleep reading while waiting for Flake to return since he hadn't answered any of Paul's text messages. He'd been concerned when Flake left the house that evening, saying he needed to go for a walk and not to wait up for him. Paul had noticed Flake being active and almost on edge all day, and actually had bustled around the kitchen for the first time since the tour incident. 

While Paul was glad for the seemingly positive change in his friend's attitude, a layer of uncertainty and hesitation kept him cautious in his optimism. Schneider's apology, attitude, and assertion that he didn't mean anything emotional by his actions should have caused Flake some form of disappointment, or at least that's what Paul expected. It had instead seemed to ignite a fire under Flake and push him to start being busy again. While it looked beneficial on the surface, Paul was no stranger to feeling a need to keep busy to avoid thinking about hard truths. He had a strong suspicion that's what Flake was up to.

Paul stood up and looked at the clock. It was far too early to be awake for the day, but he was too wide awake to immediately try going back to sleep. He folded the blanket that presumably Flake had draped over him when he'd come home. Paul smiled at that. Whatever turmoil was in his friend's head, he was still his friend, and Paul was immensely appreciative. 

He walked over to Flake's bed and peered at his friend's sleeping face. Flake always burrowed his face deeply into his pillow that he gripped close to himself. When he slept with someone else, it was as if Flake had been magnetized to them. Paul knew from personal experience just how stifling sharing a bed with Flake could be. Paul was a sprawler in bed, and needed space to breathe. That had made their early years together during the Feeling B times especially difficult for him. Flake had often asked to sleep with him, preferring his company over the cramped space near Aljoscha that was frequently filled with other men he was wooing. Flake was happy as a clam snuggling up to Paul and sleeping while Paul was left overheating and gasping for air in their sweaty, cramped quarters. 

Paul felt a tiny twinge of nostalgia at the memory of them, decades before, young little wide-eyed punk musicians whose only goal was to make loud, outrageous music and travel around their little country. Crafting trinkets to sell by day and playing music by night was their routine, and both he and Flake had loved every single chaotic second of it. Their scattered, almost improvisational little shows had been a far cry from the well-oiled machine that was now Rammstein. Paul admitted he missed the intimacy of those stupid little shows every now and then. More than that, he missed his world revolving around only three people: himself, Flake, and Aljoscha. It was so much easier to manage your life when you had so few people to care about, and equally when so few people cared for you in turn. 

As he watched Flake's steady, shallow breathing under the large pile of blankets, fondness rose up in his mind, remembering their kinship over the years. They'd been much closer then, arguably closer than anyone else. Paul felt his cheeks warm as he remembered the first time they'd "fooled around." It had been so long ago, and he felt no physical draw to Flake anymore, but the memory was a nice one, and was the basis of his current self-appointed role as Flake's most trusted friend.

\--------

"Paul, hey, Paulchen."

Paul cracked his eyes open in irritation and squinted in the darkness.  
"What?"

"Can I sleep here? Aljoscha is with another guy and they're really loud."

A faint yelling and moaning from down the hall confirmed as much.

Paul closed his eyes again and rolled over, making a motion with his hand that said "sure, whatever."

"Thanks."

He felt Flake's gangly body crawl up on the bed beside him and flop down, immediately snuggling up behind him. Paul began to fall back asleep, but Flake started rustling around.

Paul sighed internally, knowing he'd not be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Flake was a very predictable person, and Paul deduced his tossing and turning meant something was bothering him. 

"What's on your mind, Flake?" Paul asked groggily.

"I ju-just wanted to um, ask if you, uh--"  
Flake's nervous words broke off into silence, but Paul stayed quiet. He knew when Flake was anxious, his stutter was much worse than normal.

"You can tell me anything, Flake," Paul said, turning to face his best friend. "I'm not gonna laugh at you or judge you."

Flake sighed, and Paul noticed he was gripping the pillow rather tightly. 

"Am I ugly?"

Paul raised an eyebrow.  
"What on earth makes you ask that?"

Flake frowned and said, "Because I can't seem to talk to girls well enough to do anything with them."

"What do you mean, "do anything"?" Paul asked.

"Like, well, have sex and stuff."

Paul chuckled at Flake's bashfulness. Whenever Flake played music, he was a giant, radioactive ball of confidence and excitement; but alone or in private, he was extremely self conscious.  
"No, of course you're not ugly. Besides, girls don't really like our type of music, I dont think. You have to play Beatles if you want girls to hang around you."

"Well I don't like the Beatles."

"I don't either," Paul agreed. "But I also don't want to change our band, and I'm pretty sure Aljoscha won't either."

Flake was quiet for a moment, and then asked, "If I'm ugly but still have a big dick can I still get girls?"

Paul laughed outright at that, earning him a disgruntled jab in the ribs from Flake.  
"Again, you're not ugly," Paul said through his giggles, "but even if you were, yeah if you're packing a lot you'll probably have a lot of sex. Why?"

Flake cleared his throat uncomfortably and didn't answer at first.

"Come on, Flake; now I'm curious. Did someone say you've got a big cock?"

"No," Flake admitted. "I've just seen Aljoscha's, and the men he keeps sleeping with, sometimes I see theirs if I'm not asleep or if I'm leaving while they're fucking."

Paul made a humming noise and then said, "So you think you've got a good dick like Aljoscha?"

"Kinda?" Flake said hesitantly.

"You either do or don't stupid." Paul teased. "Just tell me how big it is."

"I mean, I've never measured it."

"Compare it to something. Is it as big as my guitar neck?"

Flake snorted. "Of course not. I wouldn't be able to walk properly."

"Then compare it something it *is* like."

"M-maybe like a, well, like um--" 

"Is it as big as a beer bottle?" Paul tried to think of comparisons for him, or else he sensed Flake would stumble over himself all night with it."

"Kinda," Flake said again, making Paul roll his eyes.

"Okay, look, why don't you just take it out and I can tell you if it's big or not. I've seen Aljoscha's a million times and can compare yours to his and mine."

Paul could practically hear Flake blushing. It was hilarious how bashful he got about sex and private parts. Suprisingly though, Flake did as Paul suggested. He slid down his sweat pants and pulled the blanket back, then sat up on his knees and faced Paul. 

"Scheiße," Paul said, open-mouthed. 

Flake was extremely big, or long at least. 

"Is it big?" Flake asked timidly.

"Yes, it is; Jesus christ, Flake!" Paul exclaimed. "I never knew you had a fucking brautwust for a dick."

"It's not as thick as some brautwurst," Flake protested. 

"It's certainly longer than some too," Paul countered, studying the well-endowed man. "I guess you're a show-er, aren't you?"

Flake blinked at him in the darkness. "Huh?"

"A show-er. Like, here, look at mine."  
Paul pulled down his boxers and got in a similar position as Flake.

"Mine's not so big, but that's because it gets a lot bigger when I get a boner. It comes to about--" he pulled his penis up and held a finger about 7 centimeters from the top, "--there, when I'm hard."

Flake looked absolutely fascinated by Paul's dick, and had completely forgotten his earlier shyness at being naked.  
"It gets that much bigger? That's a lot. Mine only gets a little bigger."

"You get bigger too??" Paul was dumbfounded at this revelation. "You're a show-er *and* a grower?"

Flake grinned, apparently pleased with Paul's reaction. 

"Okay, we absolutely have to measure against each other while hard. I bet I'm almost as big when I'm stiff."

"I only get hard at really random and very inconvenient times unless I'm jerking off," Flake said.

Paul was thoughtful for a moment.  
"Well, nobody says we have to masturbate alone. Come on, you have to be curious what I look like hard too, right?"

Flake giggled at that, then said, "Yeah, I guess I am. And then you can tell me if girls will like me because of it instead of having good looks."

Paul rolled his eyes. "You're still not ugly. But let's go ahead. I really want to know."

"Um. Like, just, start? Or, what, I don't know--"

"Yeah, just use your hand, stroke yourself, like this," Paul began lightly gripping and moving his foreskin back and forth.  
"Come on, I know you know how to masturbate."

"Of course I know how to masturbate," Flake mumbled, taking his soft dick in hand and starting to fondle himself.

Paul watched in utter fascination as, true to his word, Flake got even bigger. It wasn't by a lot, but with a dick already so long, it was downright impressive. 

Spurred on by the sight, Paul stroked himself quickly; there was no way his best friend had a bigger dick than he did. 

"Oh," Flake breathed, intently following Paul's hand and staring amazed as Paul rapidly stiffened and nearly doubled in length and girth. 

Paul finally released a long, slow breath and gripped near the base of his cock. "There, see? Come here and let's look."  
Flake shuffled up close to Paul, and did the same with his dick, holding it by the bottom.

Paul whistled. "You're still bigger, even though it's not by too terribly much. I'll be damned."

Flake smiled bashfully and let go of his dick. It bobbed a bit, and Paul stared at it for a moment. He was still holding his own, and he looked down.  
"Well now what?"

Flake shrugged. "It takes a long time for me to get soft unless I just masturbate and get it over with."

"Me too," Paul agreed thoughtfully. "I guess we could just finish."

"Right now?" Flake asked, his voice cracking.

"Why not? Have you ever had someone help you?"

Paul could almost feel the heat radiating from Flake as he blushed from the question.

"No. I made out with this girl behind the bus a few times and she grabbed my pants and let me touch her breasts, but that was it. Have you?"

"I've had sex twice, yeah, and a couple handjobs."

Flake's eyes widened. "What did it feel like?"

"The sex or the handjobs?"

"Both."

"Well, sex was obviously way better. It's like, really hot inside, and it feel good and tight on your dick. Like your hand, but softer, slippery, hotter."

"And do the handjobs just feel like masturbating?"

"No not at all. Their hands are so soft and light, it almost tickled. But like, the good kind of tickle, where it makes you want to just keep doing it forever."

Both Paul and Flake had resumed jerking off, each of them invested in the story in their own way. 

"Did she look at you, or just do it?" Flake asked breathlessly.

"She leaned up into me, whispered and moaned in my ear, it was so awesome," Paul said, his dick twitching in his hand remembering that event. He glanced over and saw Flake was sitting back on his legs, his mouth slightly open as he listened intently. In the heat of the moment and remembering how good it felt, Paul wanted to share that sensation with Flake, as well as feel it again himself.

"Here," Paul said, scooting closer to Flake, "I can show you."

Flake's eyes widened and he froze.

"Is that okay?" Paul asked. He'd never touch Flake without his permission; not that he ever especially wanted to, but this moment seemed to be pulling him strongly that way.

After a brief hesitation, Flake simply gave a slow nod, his eyes still huge.

Paul smiled, then reached out and held Flake's dick. Flake immediately stiffened, and released a shaky breath as Paul began slowly sliding his hand up and down, moving Flake's foreskin with his nearly closed fist around it.

"Oh," was all Flake said, a breathy utterance. 

"It feels awesome, right?" Paul enthused, still impressed at the size of Flake. 

Flake nodded quickly and emphatically.  
"Can I…" his blonde head indicated towards Paul's crotch.

"Sure." Paul angled himself for an easier reach next to Flake, who tentatively moved his hand over. Paul hummed pleasantly as Flake wrapped his hand around him and began lightly stroking. 

The two were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts and sensations. Flake spoke up first, his breathing a little heavier as he asked, "Paul? Could you talk about the sex? Like m-more details, or, you know…"

Paul nodded, plenty eager to relive the memory.  
"It felt so fucking good, like squeezing yourself into the softest, wettest, warmest thing, and you can even feel when she gets tense or moves her hips at all. Hey, careful with your fingernails."

Flake paused to collect himself and muttered, "Sorry."

"It's fine. Here, try like this," Paul showed on Flake where his hand and fingers were placed, and Flake mimicked it.  
"There you go. Oh, fuck yeah. That feels great." 

Paul forgot completely that he'd been telling a story, and got swept up in the bliss of the hand job. He even forgot he was supposed to be doing the same for Flake, and his hand slowly eased off of holding him. The sex he'd had replayed in his mind like a blessed bookmark in time, arousing and pleasing him.

All too quickly Paul felt his spine stiffen and he gasped. He barely had enough time to bring his own hand up and move Flake's aside before he finished, spurting up onto his chest and belly with a few quiet grunts and moans. When his orgasm had died down, he sighed, and looked over at Flake.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry Flake," he said hurriedly.

Flake's mouth was open, and he had been desperately stroking at himself while watching Paul.

"Here," Paul said with a grin, "I'll return the favor."

Paul replaced Flake's hand with his own, and began to jerk at him quickly and firmly. Flake immediately tensed and threw his head back, his breathing getting ragged and choppy. After just a few more seconds of Flake squirming around, Paul felt the tell-tale thickening of Flake's cock.

"Paul, please, I-- f-fuck!"

With what sounded like a choked "yes," Flake began throbbing in Paul's hand and stickying Paul's chest as well, as he'd accidentally pointed Flake at himself as he stroked. He didn't care, though, and just watched in amusement as Flake came down from his orgasm. He looked dazed, and it took him awhile to gather himself.

"So," Paul said after wiping himself off with the bedsheets, "better than masturbating?"

All Flake could do was nod, his chest heaving from the experience.

Paul chuckled again. "And it's even better when it comes from a girl. Their hands are so soft and light."

"So, I can still get girls because of my dick?" Flake reiterated hopefully.

Paul frowned at that. "Listen, Flake. You are *not* ugly. I promise. I've seen actual ugly people. And don't worry about girls. I'll be your wingman and take care of you when we make it big. You'll be drowning in girls, I swear."

Flake went back to his bashful self as he pulled on his sleep pants, then yawned.  
"Well, if you promise, then I guess that's okay."

"Of course it is. Now let's go to bed so we can play tomorrow and get started making it big."

He ruffled Flake's hair and rolled over to the other side of the bed. As expected, Flake followed him and pressed up against him like usual. Paul was a little too drained to care, so he let Flake invade his space with no fuss. The two fell asleep dreaming of the day when they would be huge rock stars.

\-----------

After Paul had finished replaying that memory in his mind, he smiled again down at Flake. Their occasional fooling around had been what gave Paul so much insight into Flake as a person. He felt so connected to him, and now-- though his connection was purely platonic and non-romantic-- he still felt very strongly about caring for and protecting Flake. 

Flake's heart had been broken before, and he was having such a difficult time connecting with people outside the band lately. It saddened Paul, and was part of the reason he'd been so automatically harsh with Schneider. He just wanted to protect Flake.

Paul leaned down and ruffled Flake's hair fondly before leaving the room to go make some tea. Flake was like Paul's little brother, and he would do anything to ensure Flake was both happy and safe.


	9. Confusion and Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard asks Flake to breakfast to finally get his side of the story.

Flake squinted against a beam of sunlight that was blazing directly into his face. He swatted toward the window, but without fully getting up, he couldn't reach the blinds to close them. He wanted to keep sleeping, feeling groggy from the disruption of his normal-- or what had become normal-- sleep pattern. Flake grunted and pulled one of the many blankets he was burrowed under over his head, and settled back into his little sleep nest. 

He was just about to drift back off again when a buzz from his nightstand jolted him fully awake. He groaned, and stuck a hand out from his cocoon and flailed around blindly for the phone. Finally reaching it, he grabbed it and pulled it back inside the blankets. Flake scrunched his brow as the blinding light from his phone screen hit him, but he opened it regardless. He had expected to see a snarky text from Schneider, asking if he were awake yet or not, but was suprised to see it was from Richard. He rubbed his eyes to clear the sleepiness from them and read the text:

"Hey ur probly asleep but I wanted to see if you wanna get breakfast or coffee and talk."

Flake was confused at Richard's sudden desire to chat, as well as his always atrocious text-spelling, but another vibration from the phone clarified for him:

"Till and i talked and i think hes coming around. id just like to talk to you first and I guess explain his side a little? idk. better at this shit in person. lemme know if youd like to talk."

Ah, that made sense. Richard was by far the better communicator of the two, so it followed suit that he'd like to talk to and hear Flake's side of things first. With a stifled yawn, Flake emerged from his blanket hole and tapped back his reply. 

"Breakfast sounds fine. Just let me get ready."

Richard always texted back nearly instantaneously, and Flake hardly had to wait 4 seconds before he replied:  
"sounds good."

Flake sat up and yawned fully, stretching out his arms and feet with it. He sat for a few moments, simply feeling miserable at being awake, and then got up out of bed. 

He went through his normal morning to do list: showering, shaving, toiletries, and getting dressed. He chose a purple polo shirt with a plain white undershirt, black slacks and a black windbreaker. He thought about wearing his favorite trilby hat, but instead decided on a simple beanie. It was pretty nippy outside, and he had grown fond of the soft hat in the past few months.

Dressing up didn't seem a priority today. He was planning on deep cleaning the kitchen, as he'd not done so since they'd moved back in. He felt much more alive after seeing Schneider again and just talking freely. Flake felt at ease with him, more so than near anyone else-- even Paul, whom he'd known since his teenage years. 

A smile played at his lips as he let his mind wander back to some of his favorite memories; back in the days of the GDR, when his hair had been long, his taste in music chaotic, and his dreams confined within the walls of the small country. It was so simple, then. He thought he knew what the world had in store for him, confining though his world had been. All he wanted was to play music: loud, fast, terrible music that made people either dance or throw things at him. He didn't care which it was, either. Flake just loved being the evoker of feelings. Paul had been right there beside him, equally as ecstatic about playing music, badly, loudly, and as energetically as possible. 

Paul had been his happy little anchor back then. Anytime Flake got a bit too reckless or wild, Paul had been there to pull him back down to reality, then placate his inevitable irritation with booze or jokes. He'd even been the first person Flake had been naked with. Paul's confidence in his body, clothed and unclothed had helped Flake to finally be comfortable in his own body. There had still been the occasional jabs from people about his appearance, but they seemed a lot less important when you were just as happy naked as you were with clothes on. Paul taught him about his own body as well, more than simply being comfortable in it, Flake recalled with a smile. The little bastard had given him the first orgasm that hadn't been from his own hand, and Flake thanked him for it. Paul had kickstarted little horny Flake's sex drive into high gear through the years that followed, well into the time after Rammstein was formed. Flake owed a lot of his bold sexual adventures to Paul's gentle coaxing and encouragements in their tiny shared bedroom in East Germany.

Before his mind wandered too far down memory lane, a sharp knock at the door jolted Flake back to the present.

"Hey, Flake, are you ready yet?"

Puzzled, Flake opened the bedroom door to find a very impatient looking Richard.

"What?" Flake asked. "You didn't even tell me when you wanted to meet."

"Yes, I did," Richard retorted, pulling out his phone with a bothered sigh. "I said it right… I said we'll meet at…"

His voice trailed off as he scrolled through his text messages. 

Flake waited, raising an eyebrow as Richard squinted at his phone, searching for a text Flake knew he'd never sent.

"Oh. Well, I guess I forgot to say what time. Still, it's getting late."

"It's barely 8am, Richard."

"That's plenty late!" he said, raising his voice unnecessarily. "Are you ready to go or not?"

Flake rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, just let me get my jacket."

After yet another verbal prodding from Richard when he apparently tied his shoes "like an old grandpa," Flake finally got into Richard's car and the two set off for breakfast.

Flake became increasingly concerned as he studied Richard during the drive. He was fidgety, seemingly anxious and very clearly preoccupied with something. When Flake tried to inquire, Richard had waved him off.

"Allergies," he said dismissively, puzzling Flake further. He didn't press Richard however, and switched his focus to gripping the hand hold on the door tightly. Richard was a bit of an "excited" driver. Speed limits were suggestions, as were the brakes around tight turns, apparently. That said, Flake was still impressed at how adept Richard was, despite the high speeds.

They made it to the coffee shop in record time, but their speed didn't seem to have calmed him at all. Flake felt nervous and on edge as Richard's apparent anxiety continued even once they'd sat down at a table. Richard drummed his fingers on the table, glancing obsessively down at his phone every minute or so.

Flake sighed tiredly, stirring at his tea. Richard had ordered an espresso he had yet to touch, not that he needed the caffeine, Flake guessed by the man's hyper actions. 

"Flake," Richard said, finally breaking the tense silence, "there's something I can't stop thinking about and it's bothering me."

"You don't say," Flake said dryly, sipping at his tea. 

Richard either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it.  
"Do you still have feelings for Schneider?"

Flake's rather large sip of tea suddenly found itself going down the wrong pipe, and then back up into Flake's nose.

While Flake choked and sputtered, trying to gather himself to breathe normally again, Richard sat with his brow lowered in an uncomfortable stare at Flake. He continued to glance down at his phone on the table, which stared back, the screen black and empty.

Flake finally took a huge breath, and with one last little cough, he wiped his nose and mouth with a napkin sheepishly. He was winded from the coughing fit and his face shone bright scarlet. 

"What did you say?" he asked Richard, his voice raspy from the irritation of tea in his lungs.

"Do you still have feelings for Schneider? You said you didn't know before-- well, just before. Do you still think you might?"

Flake sat for a moment, stunned at Richard's direct question. He was suprised only for a moment, though, realizing he probably had talked to Till about it. Since Flake had gone to Till first about his concerns, it made sense that Richard was the one to come to him with questions about it.

The problem then became, what should he tell him?

An idea creeped into the back of Flake's mind like a small nudge. It was a bit, well, blunt, but Flake had been desperate lately. And what did he truly have to lose?

"Yes," he said simply, dabbing lightly on his mouth at the remains of tea. He set the napkin back in his lap with a prim little pat, then looked back up at Richard.

He wondered for a half moment if he'd given the poor boy an aneurism. Richard's eyes bugged out and his eyebrows were shot as high up his forehead as they were able. Flake was mildly suprised his mouth wasn't hung open in-- ah, there it went. 

Richard tried to say something, failed, then tried again but just released his breath in a weird sigh. He tried a third time, managing to corral words with this attempt:  
"But, what, you do? How? No, wait, that's not what I meant. I meant like, what-- or I guess, well--"

Flake watched with a tiny, smug little grin as Richard floundered for communication. He had clearly not been expecting such honesty from him, which Flake had been banking on. He hated feeling anxious and out of the loop, but reveled in being the one to dole out that feeling to others. 

Flake was an asshole, yes. He knew that well enough already.

Richard took a deep breath and composed himself, then asked, "You're serious? You still have feelings for him after all that?"

"Like I tried to explain to you and Till, it wasn't how it came across. It wasn't any real fault of his except for being a little over eager. I was just so suprised that I didn't know what to do and panicked. It's not an abnormal response from me. Remember when you forced me to ride that awful wooden roller coaster?"

Richard's shocked expression softened at that memory and he snorted. "You shook like a tiny wet dog."

"Yes, well, it was also raining and cold," Flake said in response. "But I was so suprised at the whole thing that I didn't know how to respond properly."

"Till thought for sure it gave you a stroke when you couldn't walk straight. And then you threw up on his shoes when he asked if you liked it."

Richard's mood was improving steadily at the comical memory of Flake wobbling around the amusement park and getting sick.

Flake rolled his eyes, but was satisfied to see his reference to Richard's nostalgia had pulled him out of his shock.  
"Anyway, yes. I like him, a lot. I think I love him."

Richard's eyes shot wide again and Flake sighed, waiting for him to calm down again. It took less time the second go around, and Richard found his words to ask questions again.  
"So, you think you love him."

It was a statement, not a question, and Flake felt it appropriate to simply nod as he sipped his tea in response.

"I didn't expect that," Richard admitted. "I thought you might say it was complicated, or no, especially after--"

Flake set down his mug of tea and held up a hand to interrupt Richard.  
"Look, Richard," he began, knowing he was going to have to do this eventually with Till anyway, so he may as well practice on someone a bit more emotionally competent.  
"Like I said, it wasn't how it looked. Schneider was too eager, but it was the coke that made him so... abrupt, I guess. I had hinted around about some things with him, and he put those pieces together right then. It just startled me is all. I didn't know what to do, so I sort of panicked. He didn't hurt me, didn't even so much as put his hands on me."

Flake knew he was stretching the truth a bit here, but felt it was needed to get Schneider back on Richard's good side, at least for now.

"But your face, Till said you had blood all over you."

"Schneider had a nosebleed from the cocaine. The idiot had been snorting it all through the concert and I guess the dam broke when he went and did his last line before we, um--" Flake stuttered, then cleared his throat and finished, "before I kissed him."

Richard's eyebrows shot up again, but he held his tongue to let Flake finish. He was again twisting the truth to fit his own narrative, but figured Schneider could use the helpful nudges in the story.

"Anyway, I got blood all over my face, he panicked which made me panic so I left the room and ran into Paul. I couldn't catch my breath to tell him what happened before he told Till to go in there and talk to Schneider. Apparently Schneider thought he'd hurt me, and told that to Till."

Flake saw Richard make a face, and Flake nodded. "Yes. So you see why I've been trying to gently push him to listen to me. Schneider didn't deserve to get kicked out, especially not without all of us band members talking about it."

Richard nodded slowly. "You know why we did it though, right?" His voice sounded hurt, and Flake knew he was feeling guilty. Good. Maybe he needed a good dose of guilt to realize what they'd done had been foolish and rash.

"I understand the reactions, yes. But going beyond that, doing something so drastic without everyone being able to weigh in was wrong."

"You wouldn't talk to anyone!" Richard protested, getting desperate.

"Did you or Till or Oli try to talk to me?" Flake asked quietly.

Richard clamped his mouth shut at that. He hadn't, both on an advisement from Till as well as Paul saying he doubted it would do any good.  
"I didn't want to bring up anything to hurt you," Richard whispered faintly, avoiding Flake's eyes. 

Flake knew he was hurting Richard, but he knew Richard needed to feel hurt. Maybe he'd stop and think next time before he and Till bulldozed over the band with what they decided was right and wrong. Flake was becoming bitter at the thought of the two disregarding Flake as a person and treating him instead as if he'd been some property that had been damaged.

"You hurt me worse by not talking to me," Flake said flatly. 

That got Richard's eyes pulled up to meet his own; they were pained and remorseful, but Flake didn't especially care right then. 

"I take it you won't bring this up to Till," Flake said, and it wasn't a question. "I also take it you won't mention that I'm meeting up with Schneider, because that's how friends work: they talk to one another and try to figure things out."

Richard flinched at Flake's biting words, but slowly shook his head in response.  
"No," he said quietly. "I won't say anything."

"Good." Flake sniffed, satisfied that his message had gone through clearly. "I'm going to take a walk, and then I'll head back to the flat on my own."

Richard's eyes darted back down to his phone, which had lit up and given a quick vibration. He swiped at the screen dismissively, then looked back up at Flake.  
"Can I ask one question?"

Flake sighed, already standing up to leave, but he nodded.  
"What question?"

"Does Schneider feel the same?"

Flake's eyebrows knit together in a very serious look.  
"He told me he doesn't have any feelings past friendship for me." 

The tone was hollow, but Flake was unable to keep the twinge of hurt from his words. He knew Richard could hear it, but he didn't care. He felt drained suddenly from the conversation he hadn't expected to have. He stepped away from the table and gave a halfhearted wave in Richard's direction.  
"Have a good one, Richard. Thank you for the tea. I'll see you this afternoon."

Richard watched Flake go, then with a miserable sigh he rested his head on a fist and unlocked his phone with a few taps. He paused as he saw the name on the text:  
"Doom."

Richard had been unable to sleep the evening prior after wondering whether Schneider had fallen for Flake as he'd fallen for Till. In desperation, he texted Schneider after Till had fallen asleep. He put long thought and effort into his message, explaining how, if it were the case, he could understand completely how feeling attraction or even love for a band mate could drive you insane. Combined with drugs, as again he was no stranger to, he also understood how Schneider could have done something he regretted. He just needed to know, he'd said at the end of the very long text, did Schneider feel the same about Flake as Richard felt for Till? Did Schneider have feelings for him?

He'd waited agonizing hours for a response, but got nothing, and fell asleep with his face pressed to his phone screen. He woke around 6am to the phone vibrating on his cheek. He'd opened the message, ensuring Till was still asleep, and read simply:

"Yes."

That had spurred him into action, only waiting until a somewhat decent hour so he could text Flake and ask him to breakfast. Richard had fully intended on telling Flake about the message, especially after hearing Flake's side of the story and that Flake may even love him. 

The anxious enthusiasm had come crashing down once Flake reminded him that Richard and Till had gone behind his back and probably wrongfully excommunicated their drummer. Additionally, he'd not even asked Flake about any of it; not until he felt forced with Schneider's text. That stung.

With a grimace, he opened the message. He hadn't been expecting any other messages, considering he hadn't responded to the "yes" in the first place. 

Schneider's follow up text read:

"Flake told me he doesn't feel the same. I'd appreciate it if you kept that text to yourself. He doesn't need any more baggage."

Richard slumped in his chair, his head ready to explode.  
And here he thought trying to find a way to tell Till he loved him had been complicated. 

Someone was lying, and Richard didn't think he had enough heart left to figure out who.


	10. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake and Schneider meet for brunch, and Flake gets overeager about the bottomless mimosas.

As Flake walked away from the cafe, he felt the trembling start in his fingers and work its way up his hands and arms. 

He just told Richard he might love Schneider.  
What the fuck had he been thinking?

By the time he pulled his phone out of his pocket, he was shaking so badly he couldn't text very well. He managed after a few failed attempts to type out a message to Schneider:

"Would you like to get an early lunch?"

Surprisingly, he got back an almost immediate response, and he felt the trembling in his limbs ease slightly.

"That's called "brunch," Flake, and sure. Somewhere with bottomless mimosas."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"Great. See you at the corner restaurant in an hour."

Flake sighed, but the sigh was accompanied by a smile. Maybe a few drinks would calm his nerves and reassure him that it wasn't an absolutely stupid move to have shared his soul with Richard. 

As he thought about it more, he started to reason with himself. Yes, it had been an impetuous and somewhat chaotic confession, but surely he could work it into his favor somehow. He didn't fear that Richard would turn around and blab to Till; Richard was a smart man. He knew if Till found out, he'd attempt to crack down even more on Flake and push the band even further into disrepair.

Richard would also prove useful when Paul inevitably caught wind of Flake's deceit. He wasn't overly nosy, but Paul knew him better than anyone, and would quickly be suspicious of all the time Flake was suddenly spending away from the house, not to mention his abrupt attitude change. It would be handy to have someone able to lie or make up excuses for him if Paul became too concerned or asked too many questions. 

Flake also realized that he felt a bit lighter after confessing that he might actually love Schneider. It hadn't been an ideal confession, and he still felt very confused about the whole thing, but having a release for what had been bottled up inside him for weeks was surprisingly nice. It would be truly nice once he stopped trembling, that is.

But that then brought him right back to his very first dilemma:  
Did he love Schneider?

He said he might. Whether that was true or not, Flake really didn't know. It had been far, far too long since the last time he'd been in love, and even then it was barely what he could classify as "love." He was young, she was young, that's really all it was. They'd had fun for a few months, nearly a year together, and then it fizzled out. Flake had assumed that's just how it went. 

This felt different, very much so, and he couldn't figure out why. He'd known Schneider for much longer of course, but it was more than a difference in familiarity. He felt almost a physical pull toward the man, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. He loved the thrill of feeling like a teenager who got to sit close to a pretty girl, brush his leg against hers and "accidentally" rub her arm as he reached for something. This felt like an extended version of that kind of attraction. Flake didn't know whether it was the thrill of something he couldn't have, or whether it was going behind the backs of his friends that gave him that feeling, or perhaps it wasn't any of that at all.

Flake groaned and flopped down on a bench near a park he'd wandered into. His head hurt from all the postulating and "what-if's." It was doing nothing to ease his concerns. A brief wondering if Schneider had ever felt the same toward him crossed his mind, but he dismissed it with a miserable sigh.

\----------

*Could Flake have ever felt the same toward me?*

Schneider was asking himself the same question for the thousandth time that morning. He'd woken extremely early that morning to a very unexpected text from Richard. It was a long, rambling text with far too many misspellings and shortened words for Schneider's taste, but he read it dutifully and carefully. 

It had all essentially boiled down to one question:  
Did he have feelings for Flake?

Schneider had been terrified to answer for almost an hour, going over in his head the thousands of possible replies he could give. Should he lie, and set Richard at ease about it all? Something inside him felt dirty at the thought. He'd already felt humiliated being forced to tell Flake himself that he didn't, and meeting behind everyone's backs was starting to bother him as well. He would still do so for Flake's sake, of course, but he truly disliked the mounting pricking of his conscience.

As he went over in his head the reasonings for saying no, he toyed with the idea of what would happen if he told the truth. Richard would probably be pleased at his honesty-- something Schneider had a difficult history with, especially with Richard. As long as he reaffirmed that he wasn't looking for anything from Flake, or better yet, mention that Flake had told him he didn't feel for Schneider, then Richard would have no reason to say anything one way or the other. He might tell Till, but what harm would that do? He was already kicked out of the band; he couldn't be *more* kicked out. It seemed unlikely that Richard would stir things up more anyway. Richard, though a hopeless romantic, was also a bit of a peacekeeper in his spare time. He didn't start fights for no reason.

Schneider had decided that, at least this once, honesty was the best policy. He'd simply texted back "yes" in response to Richard's long-winded text. After a moment of thought, he followed up with, "Flake told me he doesn't feel the same. I'd appreciate it if you kept that text to yourself. He doesn't need any more baggage."

There. Now he was not only being truthful, but showing Richard that he was looking out for Flake's best interests. 

A little pang of sadness hit his heart, remembering the look in Flake's eyes as he'd waited that day in the cafe, silently begging him to say something, tell Schneider that he felt something, anything for him. But he hadn't, and to Schneider, it was as good as an admission. Though he'd not said it, Flake did not feel the same way. Schneider needed to get his head on straight and focus on getting his life back in order. Without Rammstein he'd been lost. He needed to find himself again.

A buzz in his pocket distracted him from his thoughts. He'd gone to the library early that morning, hoping to bury himself in music theory for most of the day and distract him from all of this, especially Richard's text.

He found a text from Flake, and immediately felt his consternated mind ease.

"Would you like to get an early lunch?"

Schneider felt himself smile as he tapped back a sassy reply.  
"That's called "brunch," Flake, and sure."  
He thought for a moment, and then added, "Somewhere with bottomless mimosas." He needed a drink, despite the early hour. He'd not been hanging around the bars at night since meeting with Flake, choosing to keep his head level in case Flake wanted to see him.

Flake texted back, "That sounds like a terrible idea."

Schneider grinned. He had him.  
"Great. See you at the corner restaurant in an hour."

Flake would know what restaurant. They'd gone there countless times for brunch when they were working on their last album. The mimosas weren't great, but they were cheap, and most importantly: bottomless.

Schneider set aside the music theory book he'd been ignoring in favor of stewing in his own head, and hurried back to his hotel to clean up before the meeting.

\------------

Flake made a disgusted face as he downed the last of the mimosa in his hand.  
"These really are awful," he complained as Schneider chuckled at him. 

"Yes, they are. They're worse than I remember, actually. Maybe I just remembered them being better because I was always drunk here."

Flake had gotten a very light breakfast with some coffee, while Schneider ordered a more hearty one. He was a little suprised to see how quickly Flake was downing the fruity mixed drinks, considering how much he'd been bitching about them. His amusement switched to a more caring feeling as Flake ordered two more.

"How've you been feeling, Flake?" Schneider hoped his question would get Flake talking and maybe slow his drinking down slightly. Flake was already getting brightly flushed cheeks, though his speech still seemed mostly fine apart from the occasional giggle, but that wasn't unusual.

"Oh, you know, the same as always," Flake said with a sigh as he finished his coffee. "Tired, bored, wondering about the future of the band."

Schneider nodded, a hint of sadness creeping into his mood.  
"Sounds like me," he commiserated. "Are they any closer to deciding what to do?"

"No. Paul and Till had a meeting this morning with some schedulers. Richard was supposed to go but skipped it. I don't think they really know anything as far as what they want to do. I'm hoping after I talk to Till, they'll reconsider."

Schneider gave him a thankful smile.  
"I appreciate it, but you dont have to go to so much trouble for me, you know."

Flake rolled his eyes and downed another glass.  
"Don't be stupid. You're our drummer, and you always will be. They just need to get their heads out of their *asses.*"

Flake put extra emphasis on the last word, which caused him to giggle at himself. Schneider raised his eyebrows and began laughing at him too. Flake was truly adorable when he was tipsy. 

Schneider's phone buzzed, and he groaned when he saw who was calling him.  
"Hey, sorry to be rude Flake, but I need to take this call. I kept a lot of stuff at a friend's house and they're moving it to a storage place today. I'll be right back, all right?"

Flake waved him away with a patient smile, and Schneider mouthed "sorry" again as he left the restaurant to take the call. He grumpily spent the next twenty minutes arguing with his friend, who had somehow gotten the wrong storage place and was trying to argue with *them* about where to put Schneider's things. He finally managed to sort it out and ended the call with an irritated sigh. 

"Sorry about that," Schneider said again, sliding back into his seat. "Took way longer than it should have."

One look at Flake had Schneider grinning, forgetting entirely about his earlier irritation. Flake was already drunk, hilariously so. His face was bright red, a goofy smile stuck permanently on him, and he swayed a bit with his movements. His speech wasn't too slurred yet, but Schneider knew it was just a matter of time. 

"Flake, how many mimosas have you had?" he asked with a chuckle, trying to slide Flake's current glass away from him before he spilled it. 

"Plenty," came Flake's overly confident answer.

Schneider gave a small snort at that.  
"Well, come on then, drunky. I'll take you back to my hotel so you can sober up. Can't send you home like this; people will talk."

Schneider helped Flake up, thanking their waitress profusely as he guided his wobbly friend out the door. Flake began loudly regaling him with stories about his life back in the GDR as they waited for their ride, which Schneider listened to with both amusement and fondness. He laughed when Flake reminded him that his dick was bigger than Paul's, because they'd measured them. He had to cover Flake's mouth to stifle his still-too-loud descriptions about his ballsack once getting stuck in his zipper when the taxi pulled up. Schneider would definitely have to rub that embarrassing tale in Flake's face when he was sober again.

Flake quieted a bit on the ride to Schneider's hotel, and Schneider slid his arm comfortingly around Flake's shoulders. Flake happily hummed some tune Schneider didn't recognize and swayed in his seat. Schneider could tell he was still getting slightly drunker, and figured the man must have pounded way more drinks than he'd first assumed.

"Flake," Schneider asked, resisting the urge to kiss the cute man on the top of his head that was now resting on his shoulder, "why'd you drink so much if you didn't like the mimosas?"

Flake made a disgruntled noise and started rustling around on the seat, so Schneider moved his arm away to let him get comfortable.

Flake turned his back to Schneider, then flopped himself backward and dropped his head directly into Schneider's lap. Schneider flinched, then sighed in relief when he saw Flake hadn't crushed his genitals under his skull. 

"I just wanted to feel better," Flake slurred, closing his eyes and smiling.

Schneider frowned in concern at that. "What do you mean?" He brushed a stray hair out of Flake's face. His hair was starting to get long again.

Flake hummed again, reverting to whatever song he'd been creating earlier.

Schneider tapped the drunk man's forehead lightly.  
"Hey, drunky," he said insistently, "why don't you feel good? What made you drink to feel better?"

Flake suddenly frowned as well, grunting and turning so he was now facing toward the front of the car, his head still in Schneider's lap. He awkwardly slid his arms around one of Schneider's thighs and hugged it for comfort. Schneider stiffened at the touch, but kept his focus on his concern for Flake.

"I just feel alone all the time," Flake said, his speech slurring even more. He nuzzled against Schneider's crotch, and Schneider had to fight very hard to keep himself from getting aroused at the feeling of Flake's warm face rubbing him.

Schneider sat, waging war in his mind for several seconds, then he gave the cab driver a different address. After that, he pulled out his phone and dialed Richard's number.

"Hey, Richard. I'm sorry if I bothered you, but I need your help with something. I know it was wrong of me, but Flake and I met up for-- oh, he told you? Right, well, he managed to drink himself stupid on mimosas. Yeah, I know; they're disgusting. I don't get it either. Right, anyway, I think he's going to need someone to look after him. It doesn't feel right to bring him back to my hotel room, so if you're okay with it, I'm dropping him off at your flat. I won't come in or anything, I just wanted to make sure he got there okay. Yeah? That works out great then. No, I don't think they'd appreciate seeing me either just yet. Right. Thank you, Rich. I just want to make sure he's okay. Yeah. Thank you. We'll be there in just a few minutes. All right, bye."

Flake started to snore gently as Schneider ended the call. He looked down lovingly at the lump of drunken man curled up in his lap, tightly hugging his leg as he snored into his crotch. 

Schneider sighed, and began stroking his hand through Flake's tangled hair. If only he were a man of fewer morals, he thought miserably. He could have reasoned his way into sleeping next to Flake for a few hours, comforting and loving on him as he used to. 

But it wouldn't be right, and as far as he knew, he was the cause of Flake's loneliness and need to drink. He'd scared him, confused him, and that hurt Schneider to his core. 

They turned onto their old street, and with a quick, light kiss against Flake's sleeping head, Schneider woke Flake up and sat him upright. Richard was waiting on their front step as they pulled up, and went over to the door to help get Flake inside. 

"Thank you," Schneider said as Richard hooked an arm around Flake's waist. Schneider held the other side, and Richard nodded up at the stairs. 

"The door's unlocked," Richard said quietly. "Will you help me get him to bed?"

Schneider gave Richard a thankful smile, acknowledging the unspoken welcome, and nodded. 

The two half-carried, half-dragged Flake's limp body up the stairs and into his room. Richard allowed Schneider to lay him down on the bed, and watched as Schneider carefully took off Flake's shoes and wrapped him tightly in a blanket. He firmly situated a pillow into Flake's arms, explaining to Richard that he needed to feel like someone was there for him to hold.

Richard was impressed at the level of care Schneider showed toward Flake; moved, even. In his eyes, at least, Schneider had redeemed himself. He belonged back in their house, back in the band, and now very clearly, he belonged with Flake. 

But Richard held his tongue. That admission was not his to say. 

He walked back out with Schneider to the taxi as Schneider continued his instructions.

"And if he gets nightmares and starts yelling, he just needs to be held and woken up gently. He won't wake up for awhile though. He really drank way too much. I'm sorry I didn't watch him better. If you can't calm him down, I guess call Paul. I wish I could stay, but I don't think it's a good idea."

Schneider looked absolutely miserable, and it broke Richard's heart to see. Schneider wasn't a monster; quite the opposite. He was a dumb, lovestruck man doing everything in his power to take care of the person he loved after making a mistake. Richard couldn't fault him for that.

Schneider flinched as Richard reached forward suddenly and hugged him, tightly.  
"Thanks for bringing him home," was all Richard said. 

When he released Schneider, the man looked tearful.  
"Please just take care of him," he said quietly, then turned and got back into the taxi. He drove off without looking back at Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you're still enjoying the angsty mess. 
> 
> I've been feeling a bit, not here lately. Quarantine is starting to wear on me, and I'm starting to sympathize with Flake's loneliness. 
> 
> If you ever want to talk, please feel free. I love chatting with people, not even necessarily about my fics (though I'll certainly talk your ear off about that too). So if you're feeling a bit down or isolated as well, hit me up and I'll be more than hapoy to commiserate with you, here or on tumblr. 
> 
> Be safe, and happy reading <3


	11. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard, Paul and Till reach a conclusion, each in a different way

Flake woke very abruptly, and it only took him a half second of confusion before he realized he was about to be sick.

He fell out of bed and staggered over to the trash bin, where he proceeded to heave up everything he'd ingested that morning. His stomach hurt, and he panted over the bin miserably as spit dripped from his mouth. 

Flake hated throwing up; absolutely *hated* it, nearly to the point of it being a phobia. The nauseated feeling, the aching stomach, the hot sweat and flood of saliva in his mouth before the inevitable clenching in his abdomen-- it was all horrific to him. The sensation of sickness and of rejected food and liquids being forcefully expelled from his body was absolutely disgusting and embarrassing. 

Flake had only ever thrown up a handful of times in his life. He didn't know whether it was a mental block or if something in his body was wired wrong to avoid throwing up whenever possible. When he was very, very young, his parents had brought him to a public pool. He loved it, but ended up swallowing more pool water than had been used for swimming. As soon as he left the pool, he had heaved up what felt like gallons of chlorinated water. The second time had been a very dismal event involving old sausages his mother didn't realize had passed their prime. He threw those up all over his father's favorite dress shirt. The third time was a case of severe food poisoning that had left him hospitalized from dehydration. The last time had been from that awful old roller coaster that Till insisted he ride. His vomiting then had been carefully aimed to be sure it ruined Till's shoes as retribution.

Now, Flake felt like dying was a preferable alternative to the pain and disgust he currently felt. Vomiting was such an unflattering affair, and he was thankful no one was around to see his anguish. 

A knock at the door interrupted his misery and made hin sigh at the irony.

"You okay, Flake?" Paul's voice carried into the bedroom.

Before Flake could tell him to go away, Paul had opened the door to peek in. Flake couldn't have said anything anyway as another wave of nausea forced him to heave back over the garbage bin.

"I see," Paul said with a half grin as he walked over. "That answers that, I suppose."

Flake groaned in between convulsions, spitting to clear the nasty bile taste from his mouth.

Paul walked over and sat on Flake's bed beside him, patting his back comfortingly.  
"There there, little mimosa killer."

Flake coughed. Had Paul found out about his meeting with Schneider.  
"Um, what?" he stammered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The nausea had eased slightly, and he sat back heavily onto the floor.

"Richard called and said you'd gotten drunk after leaving him at the cafe, so he had to go get you and bring you home. I thought you hated mimosas. Don't fruit drinks bother your stomach?"

Relieved that Richard had done as Flake asked and covered for him, Flake gave Paul an unamused look.  
"Clearly not. As you can see, my body adores them."

Paul rolled his eyes at the sarcasm and countered, "Then why did you get drunk on them, stupid?"

Flake winced as his stomach rolled again.  
"…..they were bottomless."

The thought of the overly-sweet drinks immediately forced him back overtop of the garbage bin, punishing his lapse of judgement.

"Ah, I see," Paul said again with a chuckle. "I suppose that's fair. At least you didn't have time for nightmares while you were passed out. I came back from the meeting a little early just in case. Richard was worried about you."

Paul rubbed Flake's back gently until he was finally done throwing up. 

"Feel better?"

"No," Flake grumbled. "Well, my stomach does, I suppose. But the rest of me doesn't."

Paul pursed his lips thoughtfully as he watched Flake get up with his trash bin, making a disgusted face and holding it out at arm's length to dispose of and clean up.  
"I'm going to go shower and then brush my teeth a few dozen times," Flake said grumpily from the doorway.

"Before you go, I think we're having a band meeting in a bit. You feel well enough to join?"

Flake just shrugged non-commitally as he left the room, calling back, "I'll see after my shower."

Paul sighed, hoping Flake's rough mood was just from his hangover. He got up and kicked aside his pile of laundry that had been conveniently tossed over on Flake's side of the room. Paul paused when his eyes caught sight of Flake's book on the bedside table. He thought he recognized that terrible head of hair… 

After noting Flake's page number, Paul pulled the photograph out to study it.  
Yep, that was Doom's ridiculous 80's hair all right. It was a terrible photo of he and Flake back when Flake decided he needed to closely resemble a mushroom. Paul remembered very specifically advising him against it at the time, recommending that Flake should let him cut his hair again. But Flake had refused, insisting he looked great. There were many photos, some that Paul himself had taken, that were evidence to the contrary. 

Even this photo. Paul remembered very clearly snapping this picture, in the back of whoever's van it had been. Schneider was a new but only semi frequent addition to their little music group. Paul had been trying to recruit Schneider for awhile when he'd taken the photo, initially planning to use some of his shots to show how great they'd all look together as a band. This photo hadn't been that proof, and instead was used to torment Flake years later on his questionable haircut. 

In fact, Paul recalled, wasn't this one of the important photos he'd given to Schneider when he'd tasked him with the preparation of the Rammstein photo book that never happened?

He flipped the photo over and saw his stupid little signature with a smiley face on it. Yep, this was his photograph, and one he'd marked for the book. Why did Flake have it?

As soon as the question formed in his mind, he knew the answer. 

Flake had met with Schneider, probably several times if he had to guess. Paul sighed at himself for not realizing sooner. Flake hadn't been getting back to normal around the house because he was trying not to think about Schneider; he'd done it specifically because he *was* thinking about Schneider. 

Paul rubbed his temples, partly in irritation at himself for not realizing, and partly in resignation at the reality of their situation. Even with taking Rammstein completely out of the picture, there was something between Flake and Schneider. Despite his attempt at Schneider releasing Flake from his worry about "feelings," it seemed the two were bound and determined to see whatever this was to the end, even if they'd not admitted it to themselves yet. 

Schneider had shown Paul his care for Flake, both by his willingness to lie to Flake about his feelings, and also by his adamant refusal to allow Flake to take any responsibility for Schneider's mistakes. As angry as that mistake had made Paul, he couldn't get Schneider's pained look out of his mind when Flake had attempted to take blame for himself. 

Schneider loved him. Flake probably couldn't see it, or more likely would be in denial of it, of course, but it was there. 

Paul rubbed his face with his hands again, having absolutely no idea what to do with his newfound information. Perhaps he should talk to Richard.

\---------------

A little while beforehand, Richard was busy having his own talk with Till. He'd greeted his boyfriend with a kiss once he'd come home, giving both he and Paul a quick rundown of Flake's condition. Paul and Till had both chuckled at the thought of Flake drunk on weak mixed drinks, but Paul had gone to check on him just in case. 

As he'd done so, Richard had gently pulled Till into their room.

"I need to tell you something," he admitted, earning him a raised eyebrow from Till.

"Something bad?"

"No. Just something I needed to give a little time before telling you."

Till nodded thoughtfully and sat down on the bed.  
"Can it be said while I hold you?"

Richard suddenly noticed how tired and stressed Till looked, with dark circles nestled under his eyes and a heavy crease along his forehead.

Richard practically leaped into Till's arms on the bed.  
He gave him a firm, reassuring kiss, then snuggled himself into Till's arms.

Till squeezed him, and planted another kiss on his head.  
"Thank you, scholle. Now go ahead."

Richard sighed, then decided to just lay it all out in one go.  
"Flake has been seeing Schneider, but I'm not sure how often or where or anything. He threatened me not to tell you because of how upset all that mess made you. But after we've talked, and after I'm sure you've seen Flake's mood rebounding, I figured I should tell you outright. You'd figure it out anyway, of course."

Till rumbled a bit at Richard's confession, and the sound echoed loudly in Richard's ear that was pressed against Till's chest while he snuggled him.  
"I appreciate you being considerate of my feelings, Rich," Till said quietly. "That was sweet of you."

Richard nodded, and squeezed Till in acknowledgement. He was grateful Till was so understanding, and knew it was a sign of strong growth in their relationship.

After a quick nuzzle of Richard's head, Till continued, "I'm also glad you knew you could tell me. It means a lot that you didn't skulk around hiding a secret."

Richard shrugged. "I just know you. I knew you needed time to settle and come to terms with things."

Another rumble followed by a tighter squeeze, and then Till said, "You better stop. All this wholesome, healthy communication is turning me on."

Richard giggled, then turned his head up to Till's, puckering his lips until Till acquiesced with another kiss. They held it, blissful and happy that they'd gotten to such a comfortable point in their relationship.

Just as Richard slid his hand from Till's firm jaw, down across his chest and purposefully toward his groin, he was struck with a pertinent question that he felt he needed to bring up. He sighed, then removed his hand.

"Till?"

With a sigh in return, Till turned his gaze back to Richard's. He didn't say it, because he was an adult and respected Richard; but his pursed lips clearly showed mild frustration. Richard felt the same, if he were being honest.

"Yes, Rich?" Till asked, clearly still intent on holding and ever so slightly grinding Richard atop his semi-hard dick. Richard didn't stop him.

"What do you think we should do about Doom?"  
Richard was allowing Till's insistent hip presses because he wanted to have sex just as badly as Till, if not more so. They'd both been stressed, run-ragged trying to placate both fans and studio personnel with their various explanations for their drummer's absence. Richard had a strong suspicion that was what had kept Till from a restful sleep, and knew it definitely had been the cause of his own sleeping issues.

He snuggled his head under Till's chin, forcing Till to answer even as he felt the man hardening further under his legs. He would use the man's older strategy against him, and purposefully continue to slide his hips back and forth to enjoy the feeling while still getting the answers he needed.

Till seemed happy to oblige.  
"I don't really *know*," he said, jerking his hips up hard into Richard's for emphasis on the word. "Perhaps we should bring him *back,* and see how everyone works with him then."

Richard fought a whine as he felt the multiple hard pokes into his thigh. He decided to push the suggestion Till brought up to see if he were being serious.

"Would you be okay with Schneider being back into the normal routine here?" he asked seriously, while still savoring his boyfriend's grasp and playful hip bucks.

"Honestly?" Till asked, pausing his grinding and grasping. 

Richard waited for Till's clarification, putting his desire on hold.

"Yes. I think I was too rash, as I told you. I don't think I did what was right, and if I'm given the chance to correct my mistake, I'm going to take it."

Richard was thoroughly distracted from his sexual desire by the immense emotional progress he saw Till had made.  
Till had gone from someone who used sex as a distraction from all serious talks, to someone who wouldn't be fully dissuaded from a serious topic, despite physical distraction. Richard could not have felt more proud.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" Till teased as Richard sank into an emotional hug.

"It'll do," Richard chuckled, knowing Till understood how happy his response had made him. He rubbed his forehead aggressively against Till's chest, who rumbled yet again in happiness.

"We need to have another band meeting," Richard mentioned, his breathing thickening from Till's insistent hip thrusts.

"That's very wise, yes," Till agreed in a deep, gravely voice as he bucked his clothed hips up into Richard's.

Richard grinned, then decided this was an earned victory. They'd both spent months getting to this point of communication and agreement. They deserved a quick moment together, he ended up figuring.

Till was just as eager in his own agreement.


	12. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard, Till, and Paul come to a conclusive decision amongst themselves.

Richard and Till had barely finished yanking off one another's shirts and pants when they heard a sharp knock at their door. They groaned simultaneously.

"What?" Till called irritably.

"It's Paul. Can we have a quick talk?"

"No. Incredibly busy. Fuck off."

"It's sort of serious," Paul said through the still-closed door.

Till growled and stomped over to the door. He flung it open and crossed his arms, glaring at Paul challengingly.

Paul's eyes flicked down to Till's naked, aroused front. He gave a hopeless sigh and rubbed his forehead, but wisely chose not to further acknowledge it.

"Talk," Till demanded, "so we can go back to fucking."  
He hoped his crass attitude would encourage Paul to speak his mind more quickly. 

Paul wrinkled his nose but took the hint.  
"I think we need to talk about Schneider during the meeting today."

"Why?" Till's voice was still irritated, but he had dropped his arms from their stern crossing over his chest.

"I think we should bring him back. And I can't speak for you or Richard, but I personally need to apologize to him. We didn't have the whole band together and we didn't vote on kicking him out. That's not how we do things, and he deserved a much more fair discussion about the whole ordeal. It makes me feel like shit how we handled all that."

Richard had been rustling around in the room as Paul was talking, and then slid up next to Till. He was wearing clothes now at least. 

"I agree," Richard chimed in. "I would like the chance to apologize too, at least. And to be honest, we aren't going to find another drummer like him. And I miss him."

Till looked over at Richard, who looked remarkably sad.

"I miss him too," Paul added quietly.

With a grunt, Till said, "Obviously I do too. He's our brother, and he should have been given a proper chance to explain himself. I need to apologize as well."

"Also…" Paul shuffled his feet a bit, then said, "Also I need to apologize for forcing him to push Flake away."

At both Richard and Till's confused looks, he clarified, "When Flake was really badly depressed, I made Schneider meet with him and me so Schneider could apologize. I also made him emphasize that there weren't any deeper feelings between them."

Richard looked dumbfounded, but Till seemed very understanding. 

"I know it was wrong," Paul said miserably. "I just hoped that Flake hearing him say that, after he'd been pining after him would help him get over it. I reasoned that Schneider didn't care for him if he acted that way, so…"

Till nodded. "I'd probably have done the same thing."

Richard looked ready to explode. His antsy fidgeting finally caught Till's attention.  
"Something to add, little scholle?"

Richard hmphed at the diminutive nickname, but spoke up, "Did he actually agree to say he didn't have feelings for Flake?"

"Yeah. He wasn't happy about it, but he said it."

Richard looked up at Till's face, who simply blinked back at him.

"I found out today Flake's been spending time with Schneider," Richard admitted. "I assume he's been doing it since he started perking up--"

"--which would have been right after I had Schneider talk with us," Paul finished, realization dawning on him. "Well. I guess that talk had the intended effect but in the wrong way. He cheered up from being near him, not from being pushed away."

The three stood in silence for a few moments, each acknowledging the unspoken reality of the situation. 

"Scheiße," Till finally said. 

The other two nodded.

"If it helps," Richard said tentatively, "both Schneider and Flake told me they have feelings for each other. They just are convinced the other doesn't, and I guess won't talk about it."

"That sounds like Flake," Paul admitted. "And I guess like Schneider, to be honest. He stepped up and took responsibility for what he did. Flake tried to apologize, I don't know what for, but Schneider wouldn't hear it. I don't know if it necessarily erases what he did, but it definitely helped me think better of him to see how much he cared for Flake."

Richard kicked his foot a little, nudging it along the floor.  
"I didn't really pick up Flake from his brunch and bring him home," he said quietly. "He was with Schneider, who called me and said he was dropping Flake off. He said Flake needed to be taken care of, and didn't feel right bringing him back to his hotel."

Paul smiled a little bit at that. He knew Schneider wasn't a monster; he'd been desperate for ways to show that fact.

Richard looked up at Till, and saw relief in his eyes. He knew Till regretted his ostricization of Schneider had been wrong, but like Paul, he had no other evidence to help him make a different decision. Now that they had concrete facts to show them Schneider cared for Flake, deeply it seemed, they were relieved.

"Well, I suppose it's settled, then," Till said. "We call up Oli and have him and Schneider come over as soon as possible for a meeting, since we were having one anyway. We just do it properly this time."

Paul and Richard nodded in agreement. 

Till looked back down at Richard, then sighed. 

"Guess we'll have to postpone our fun again, scholle," he lamented, pulling Richard into a quick kiss. He then smacked Richard on the ass, smirking when he yelped at the contact. 

Paul interrupted the banter, saying, "Right, right, I'll go tell Flake and then see if I can get ahold of Oli to come over sooner."

"Sooner the better," Till growled, hauling Richard flush against his own body and kissing him again.

Paul raised his hands and started walking away.  
"Just let me get going before you have a quickie right here. I'll let you know what Flake and Oli say."

Till just grunted, continuing to kiss and push Richard up against the doorway. Paul rolled his eyes and continued down the hallway to the bathroom.

He knocked lightly on the bathroom door, having heard the shower cut off a few minutes before.

"Ja?" he heard Flake's voice call from the other side.

"You going to be ready in the next half hour or so for the band meeting?" Paul asked loudly.

He heard some shuffling, then the door opened and showed Flake wrapped in a towel and dripping water.

"I assumed it was something very important for you to bother me while showering," Flake said dryly.

"We're having that meeting ASAP," Paul said. "We're asking Schneider to come back."

Flake's face went from mildly perturbed to wide-eyed surprise.  
"You are? Why?"

"We all realized the decision wasn't made fairly. We didn't vote, and we didn't have everyone present to tell the whole story. Plus, we all feel the need to apologize to him for all of that."

Flake's face stayed just as suprised, but he began to nod slowly.  
"Yes. That seems fair, at least," he muttered. 

"Right. We'll tell Oli and Schneider. Just wanted to make sure you'd be on board with it."

Flake nodded again, but his gaze seemed elsewhere as he replied, "That sounds fine. Can I finish dressing now?"

Paul smiled and said, "Yes, sorry. Enjoy your freshening up."

Flake rolled his eyes and shut the door in Paul's amused face.

\-------

Flake immediately texted Schneider the second he got back to his room as he hurriedly threw on clothes.

"I think they're going to ask you to come back."

Schneider responded almost immediately. 

"Yeah, Richard called me a few minutes ago; on my way now. How do you feel about it?" 

Flake could practically hear Schneider's gentle tone through the text. That made him smile, but his snark won out in his reply.  
"It took them plenty long enough."

"Any chance I could talk to you before the meeting?"

Flake frowned. It was somewhat unlike Schneider not to just come out and say whatever was on his mind.  
"Of course. I'll wait out on the steps for you."

"You can just tell everyone you needed a smoke or something, yeah."

"You sound like a child." Flake texted back. "We aren't sneaking around behind our parent's backs. We're adults, and if anyone has a problem with it, they can go fuck themselves."

There was a minute's pause before Schneider's next text came through.  
"That's sort of what I wanted to talk about. Figuring out what to do if they decide this is a permanent situation."

Irked, Flake typed, "There's no way. Surely they know you did nothing wrong at this point."

"We both know that's not true."

Flake felt torn. He wanted more than anything to assure Schneider that his advances had not been harmful at all; that he'd just been swallowed by his own fears and insecurities, and panicked at the aggressive advance. If anything, all Schneider needed to apologize for was over-eagerness.

If the truth were told, Flake had enjoyed it. In fact, he had dreamed of those advances nearly every night since. He'd fallen hard for the idea of Schneider pinning him to the wall, breathing in his ear what he was going to do, taking charge and---

Fuck. 

Flake gave an annoyed grimace down at himself, suddenly stiff and aching. Great timing, he thought bitterly to himself. He stomped his way out the front door and plopped down onto the steps to wait. He didn't know what to say in response to Schneider's last text, so he left it. He was better at these discussions in person anyway. 

He yanked out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, which he rarely smoked. He just really felt the need after Schneider's previous suggestion; plus, it usually helped dull his arousal. 

With a disgruntled sigh at himself, he lit and began smoking a cigarette. The familiar taste of nicotine and tobacco did indeed soothe him, as well as thankfully eased the firmness in his pants.

Not a moment too soon either, as Schneider's ride pulled up just as Flake finished his cigarette.

Schneider grinned at him as soon as he got out of the car.

"You look like a homeless man smoking on someone's front porch," Schneider teased, walking over and reaching out to hug Flake.

Flake snorted as he crushed the remnant of his cigarette on the ground, but stood up and hugged Schneider begrudgingly.

"I had other things on my mind besides what I was wearing, dickhead," Flake grumbled. He didn't think he looked especially bad, either. He glanced down at himself just in case. He was wearing a very normal pair of black pants, granted there were a few smudges and a bit of ash from his cigarette on them, but his shirt was nice enough. Well, no, there was a hole in the side that he'd only just now noticed. And finally, Flake noted, he was wearing his old beanie that had already been patched once. 

"I do look homeless," Flake realized, wide-eyed in the middle of the hug.

Schneider burst out laughing at Flake's deduction and squeezed him tighter.  
"Missed your homeless-ass," Schneider said.

"It's been all of, what, five hours," Flake grumbled and pushed Schneider away. He started to brush off the cigarette ash from his pants and was irked that it just seemed to smear around rather than brush off.

Schneider watched him with amusement.  
"Five long hours spent alone and bored," Schneider said, holding a hand out as Flake pulled his pack of cigarettes out again. 

"Then maybe you should have brought me along with you," Flake quipped, tossing him a cigarette.

Schneider caught it, then smirked again as he said, "I didn't feel like cleaning up vomit from my hotel room floor."

Flake shot him a dirty look, causing Schneider to chuckle.

"I take that look to mean you *did* throw up. Sorry," he said apologetically, but still holding his cigarette out for a light.

Flake sighed as he flicked his lighter and obliged the man.  
"I threw up in a container, thank you very much. Not on the floor."

"I'm suprised you threw up at all. You have an iron stomach."

"Yes, well. We all know those drinks don't sit well with me."

Schneider's grin faltered at that.  
"Do you remember getting back home?"

"No. Why?" Flake was suddenly concerned. "Did I throw up in a cab? I can't afford any more cleaning bills."

"Nah, you were fine." 

Flake heard what he thought sounded like disappointment in Schneider's tone. Or, well, maybe it was relief? He really couldn't tell, and that bothered him. He pulled out another cigarette hurriedly and lit it, taking a quick drag and blowing out the smoke in a rush.

Schneider patted his shoulder as he said, "Relax. You were just you. Nothing weird or embarrassing about just you."

Flake felt an odd warmth at that. He didn't know why Schneider said it, but he felt comforted nonetheless. He'd always held an incredibly dismal view of himself while drunk, thanks to various accounts from others. He was apparently an instigator, an asshole, a dipshit, and annoying and obnoxious when he drank.

But with Schneider, he didn't feel like any of those. He didnt fear what he might say or do after a few beers. He didn't stress that the next day, Schneider would berate him for how much he drank and what he may have cost his friends due to his drunken shenanigans. He felt safe.

That thought swirled away with the smoke from his mouth as he released a deep exhale up into the air. 

Schneider suddenly sliced a flat palm through the smoke, then another, making goofy hand gestures as he cut through the smoke with fake ninja-like motions. Flake snorted at that, and felt his remaining tension and nerves drift away with the scattered tobacco clouds. 

They sat silently, contentedly for several minutes, smoking and enjoying the closeness of one another before the inevitable discomfort of the impending meeting.

Another car drove up and parked nearby. Both recognized Oli before he emerged, and waved as he walked smoothly up to the steps. 

"Missed you, Oli," Schneider said in greeting, standing up and opening his arms wide for the man.

Oli smiled warmly, then reached out and embraced Schneider tightly. 

Flake smiled seeing them together. He knew Schneider's "misstep" was nothing truly bad, and that everyone knew it if they really thought about it. Oli was proof of that. Seeing the two embrace as old, close friends solidified his resolve. 

"I'll see you two inside, yeah?"  
Oli nodded to Schneider and Flake and left them on the front stairs, alone again.

While still a bit anxious, Flake recognized their situation was significantly less dire than he'd originally expected.

The rest would come around, and he'd make sure of it.


	13. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider is brought back to meet with the band again.

Oliver drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, intermittently switching from a steady thumb to a sharp tap with his fingernail. While not a drummer, playing the bass for so long had given him a solid sense of rhythm he could use in any situation. Keeping time rhythmically was soothing to him, and he knew things were about to get uncomfortably tense.  
  
Part of him missed spending most of his time in this flat with his friends. He loved the ambient noises they all used to make when they were together: Flake never-ending his bustling around the kitchen, Richard playing guitar in the living room every chance he got, Till thumping heavily back and forth from rooms while singing quietly to himself, Paul skidding through the hallway on his socks as he tried to slide all the way to the kitchen, and soon hopefully Schneider’s insistent makeshift drumming on every surface with every possible variation of “drumstick” he could find. The group had a music about them, beyond what they produced in studios. They had harmonies and steady heartbeats of rhythm that ran through them all as both friends and coworkers. Oli loved his girlfriend dearly, without question; but he loved his band nearly as much. They were just part of his heart.  
  
He had been relieved to hear when Paul called earlier about the meeting, mentioning the possibility of Schneider's return. 

When Till had previously announced his decision to remove Schneider, Oli knew he’d not be able to say anything to dissuade him. Additionally, he felt Schneider would do well with some time away. He’d hoped it would only take a day or two for Till to calm down, and when it hadn’t, Oli wanted to regroup and demand Schneider get a fair vote. He’d been on his way back to the flat, actually, fully intending to put his foot down on the issue when a strong feeling gave him pause.  
  
Oli had a very strong sense of intuition. He liked quietly observing others, which often gave him better insight than most.

Perhaps it had been the dark, haunted look in Till's eyes that first night when he explained his decision; or maybe he was recalling how withdrawn and morose Flake was; his feeling could even have been from seeing Paul's clenched jaw anytime he tried to engage Flake. Whatever had prompted the bad feeling, Oli knew to trust it, and had decided to stay out of the band politics for the time being. Now, he felt very peaceful about the situation, and hopeful that they could all come to an understanding. 

The front door opened, and Oli turned to look. Flake walked in first after stopping to flick his cigarette butt outside. He shuffled inside, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked pleased by something. 

As Schneider stepped inside behind Flake, following him closely but hesitantly, Oli suddenly realized why Flake was pleased. The next thought to follow quickly behind that realization was why Flake had been so inconsolably depressed the past few weeks during band meetings and rehearsals.

Flake had a crush. 

And judging by Schneider's insistence on staying directly next to Flake's side, like a nervous child glued to their parent's leg, the attraction was mutual.

It made sense, really. Oli had never given too much thought to Flake's love life, or lack thereof. Schneider, however, had always been very obvious about his trysts, at least in Oli's view. He bounced from relationship to relationship, as if he'd been either looking to distract himself or deny any other feelings he might have had. Oli knew Schneider had fooled around with Till, both in the past and very recently, and he had strong inclinations that he'd done the same with Richard. It was astounding how different someone's body language became once they'd been intimate with someone else.

That said, it didn't look like Schneider and Flake had done so. That lent even more confirmation to his stance that Schneider hadn't truly hurt Flake.

It was with this determination that Oli stood up and went to the living room to join the others for the band meeting.

\--------

The air in the room felt tense, choking. An occasional cough or shifting of legs sounded too loud in the otherwise silent room. 

"I suppose I'll go first," Till said, his voice low and gruff. Oli recognized it as his "serious" voice-- the one he used when he needed people to focus. Everyone listened attentively as Till began his speech.

"I acted rashly and was wrong when we decided to remove you from the band, Schneider. I'm so sorry. That's not how we function, as a band or as friends. You deserve at the very least to speak for yourself and get a vote on any major decision like that, and I'm sorry we didn't do that. I was angry and high and not thinking, and I apologize deeply."

Till's head hung down slightly in shame. While he was no stranger to owning up to faults, as with anyone it made him uncomfortable to admit them. He pulled his head up after his apology and looked forlornly at Schneider, who sat across the room in the chair Flake normally occupied. 

Flake had chosen to stand, probably out of nerves, Oli knew. Confrontation made him antsy. The keyboardist shuffled his feet awkwardly with one hand on the back of the chair as he maintained his post behind Schneider.. If Oli had any doubts about Schneider's feelings before, they were crystal clear now as he watched Schneider subtly set his head against Flake's hand. Receiving that comfort seemed to ease Flake's anxiety. The poor man looked more bothered than the one in the chair.

Schneider nodded his head at Till's apology and gave him a small smile.  
"It's okay. I needed the kick in the ass to get my shit together. And I personally think what you did was warranted--"

A surreptitious poke of Flake's finger against the other man's head both interrupted Schneider's self-loathing and made Oli realize why he'd chosen to stand so close to Schneider. 

"Stop it," Flake said. "This isn't about that. Just let them talk."

Everyone was a little suprised at Flake's firm tone, even Schneider. He obeyed, though, and shut his mouth to let Till finish. 

"After talking to everyone else, who will each get a chance to voice their opinion, we want to vote on bringing you back. We're not a grand jury, and you're not on trial. We just want to rectify the earlier problem of robbing people of their chance to speak. Is that all right?"

Schneider nodded rapidly and said, "Yes, of course."

Till's mouth quirked into a half smile.  
"I didn't think you'd object. Of course, my vote is for you to come back."

With a small satisfied grunt, Till sat back on the couch. Richard patted his thigh and smiled at him encouragingly.

"I'd like to say something next, if I could," Paul spoke up.

Till waved a hand for him to speak.

Paul took an especially deep breath, then began, "I'm sorry as well, Schneider. We all overreacted and didn't give you any sort of chance to speak on your own behalf. We just reacted without all the information, and I'm so sorry we assumed the worst. I've known you longer than anyone else except for Flake, and I should have known better than to think what I did."

Paul swallowed before continuing, and Oli noted how profoundly miserable the man looked.  
"All I had to go on was how Flake responded. When he ran out of the dressing room, all I saw was fear. For two weeks after that, all I saw was severe depression. When those are your only two points of reference, you can see why I thought what I did. I just wanted to look out for Flake and protect him. That's why I agreed with Till and Richard when they insisted you leave the band. I thought it was best for him."

Oli saw Flake stiffen out of the corner of his eye, as if he were about to have an outburst at Paul's statement. A subtle hand on Flake's arm kept him quiet however, and Oli watched a brief look pass between him and Schneider. 

Paul continued, "Flake seemed so much happier after ignoring my and Till's advising for you to keep your distance."

Schneider pulled away slightly from Flake, as if he were trying to shrink into himself and appear smaller. Oli took that to mean he hadn't stayed away either, though he'd not heard anyone talk about it if so.

"After seeing Flake's depression flip like a switch, and learning why it did, I knew we'd made a mistake. Even when we first had that meeting at the cafe, seeing you take all the responsibility for everything so readily, it moved me. Schneider, I'm sorry for asking what I did of you. I want you back here with us, in the band. It's where you belong, and we can't do this without you. I'm sorry everything got as fucked as it did."

Schneider looked like he was struggling not to cry, but did an excellent job of holding himself together. He nodded at Paul, who nodded right back in acknowledgement.

Richard cleared his throat then, and everyone turned to him.  
"I only ever had secondhand knowledge of what happened between Flake and Schneider, so I went with what Till and Paul said automatically."  
His gaze shifted to Schneider as he addressed him, "I should have spoken to you myself, and I'm sorry. When you brought Flake back to the house this morning to have us take care of him, it really impressed me. You looked out for him, and put his comfort before your convenience. That might seem like a little thing, but it showed me you really do care for him, as a friend," Richard added quickly. 

Schneider swallowed uncomfortably but kept his gaze steady. Oli saw Flake shuffle his feet, and he wondered why the two were acting so awkwardly. Had they not acknowledged their mutual feelings? 

Richard continued, "It seems very clear, at least to me, that whatever happened wasn't something intentional, and definitely isn't something that runs a risk of being repeated. I also think you should come back to the band."

Richard sat back and Till rubbed his back approvingly. This time Oli did see a tear get swiped away quickly from Schneider's face. It seemed apart from himself, only Flake saw the brief overflow of emotion before it was rubbed onto the back of Schneider's sleeve. 

Sounding somewhat impatient, Flake spoke up next, saying, "I've already said what actually happened a few times now, so I don't feel the need to repeat everything. I will just say again he did nothing wrong and it was solely my reaction that was the problem."

Schneider nudged his arm slightly, but Flake ignored him.  
"Even if it had been something more-- distasteful-- I would have forgiven him just the same."  
Here, Flake looked down at his friend.  
"You're a good man and a great drummer. We need you back."

Flake crossed his arms and ended his brief statement with a curt nod.

Oli knew it was his time to talk, so he spoke up next:  
"I was hardly here the past few weeks, and didn't catch the stories going around. I just know how much Schneider apologized and only asked how Flake was for the whole rest of the night. I didn't think he should have been kicked out, but the time away seems to have been good for him. I think he should come back."

The men in the room nodded at Oli's succinct words.

Paul took it upon himself to direct the meeting then, as Till had become slightly distracted by Richard saying something in his ear.  
"I think Schneider should be allowed to speak for himself, since he wasn't given that opportunity before."

Everyone's attention refocused, and they all voiced their agreement. 

Schneider straightened in the chair and coughed awkwardly before gathering himself.  
"I don't have any excuse for what I did, and I know I can't apologize enough for it. I know I've said it already, but I'm so sorry for everything, Flake." Schneider turned in his chair and looked up at his friend behind him.

Oli watched as Flake's stern gaze faltered for a moment, and his mouth that had been pressed into a thin line quirked a bit. He nodded in acknowledgement at Schneider, who gave a sad smile in return before turning back in the chair.

"I'm sorry to you all as well. I made a huge mess, and I hate that you all had to clean up after it. I fully intend to pay back anything we lost from reschedulings and cancellations, and I swear I will never do anything like that again if I'm allowed back. I miss you all, so badly. I need this band."

Schneider's voice trembled, and he stopped before it broke entirely. He sat back in the chair, and Oli once again saw Flake's hand drift to Schneider's head in comfort, unseen by the rest of the band. 

Till stood up-- an overly dramatic gesture, Oli thought-- but it suited the mood this time.  
"I know we know the result already," Till said, "but everyone in favor of Schneider returning to his place in Rammstein, raise your hand."

Everyone raised their hands, and Schneider released a shaky breath.

"It's settled, then. Welcome back, Christoph."

Till smiled broadly and stood up along with everyone else. They all took turns hugging Schneider, welcoming him and giving short words of happiness. When Oli hugged him, he could almost feel the weeks of weight falling from Schneider's shoulders as he patted his back.

After a few minutes, the mood in the room had settled, and it very nearly seemed as though things were right back to how they normally were. Richard was in the process of dragging Till by the hand back to the hallway, presumably for sex based on the flush on both of their faces when Schneider raised his voice to address everyone once more:

"I hate to ask something so quickly of you all, but I'm practically going through withdrawal. Could we please rehearse, or even just play old stuff in the studio tonight? Just for a little while?"

Oli simultaneously heard the desperation in Schneider's voice as well as the whine that left Richard's mouth before Till sharply jabbed him with an elbow. 

"Of course, Doom," Till said. "We've been needing to practice for awhile. It never was quite right without you. Come on, we'll go now before it gets too late."

Oli grinned at Richard's impatient and disgruntled face. The poor man. It must have been awhile for him based on the frustration across his features. 

Schneider on the other hand looked euphoric, and all but cheered as he ran off to go put on his shoes.

\-----------

Two hours later, the group was happily playing through the majority of their discography as well as several new ideas they'd been toying with recently. Everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves, for the most part anyway. 

Till was singing with gusto, growling and roaring louder than necessary as he'd drank a bit throughout their session. Oli and Paul weren't drinking but were equally pleased with the practice and enjoyed playing all together again. Schneider was over the moon, and had to frequently be chided to calm down and slow the rhythm a bit for the rest to keep up. It was nice to see him so excited to be playing again, Oli thought. 

The only two who seemed to not be thoroughly enjoying themselves were Flake and Richard. Oli could guess why Richard wasn't as happy, as he checked the clock every ten minutes or so and shot very desperate glances over at Till just as often. It must have been a *very* long time for them. Whatever the reason, he was especially snippy whenever they needed to stop or correct something, especially when it was something related to Schneider. 

As his continual corrections went on, becoming more and more irritated, Oli began to see Flake's mood deteriorating as well. With every remark from Richard directed at Schneider, Flake's pursed lips pressed tighter. His jaw clenched when Schneider's speed was corrected, and Oli saw a muscle in the keyboardist's neck twitch when Richard lightly scolded him for skipping the bridge of a song because he was busy laughing at Till strongly overpronouncing his "r's".

A little concerned, Oli switched sides to play to stand slightly closer to Flake. He thought perhaps he might be able to distract the man, or at least soothe whatever irritation was apparently rearing its head inside him. 

Between songs, Till paused to drink some water-- or maybe vodka; it was hard to tell. Paul and Schneider chatted lightly about the melodies while Richard seemed to be pestering Till for attention. He was waved off lightly, and Oli saw the man's grumpiness increase.

"You all right?" Oli asked, turning to Flake.

Flake gave only a grunt as an answer, then crouched down to inspect his keyboard. Oli took that as a strong sign the man didn't want to talk, so he stepped back and fiddled with the tuning pegs on his bass. He would just observe Flake from a distance, then.

The next song started well, and Oli thought perhaps Flake might have relaxed, as he seemed to be pleasantly nodding and lightly bouncing along in time to the song. 

The light mood screeched to a halt when Schneider got overeager and flipped his stick too hard in a showy move. It flew out of his hand and hit Richard's guitar, causing a loud twang as it loudly bounced off the strings.

Oli sensed Richard's snap before it came, which prompted him to step back over toward Flake who was midway distance between the guitarist and the drummer. He figured if anything got out of hand, it would be amongst those three. He was partially right.

"Fucking hell, Doom!" Richard hollered after the stick hit the neck and strings of his guitar. Till seemed not to notice as he was busy getting further drunk during the impromptu break. It was definitely vodka he was downing as he guffawed with Paul off in the corner.

Schneider's grinning face fell instantly as he heard the frustrated note in Richard's voice.  
"I'm sorry, Rich, it just slipped--"

"Fuck off, Kruspe," Flake's terse voice suddenly cut through Schneider's apology. "You've been nitpicking him all night and it's getting old. Leave him the fuck alone."

Richard turned sharply to glare over at Flake. He narrowed his eyes at the keyboardist while Paul loudly started up another riff, not even from the song they'd been playing a moment before. Richard ignored the other guitarist, and Oli saw the accumulated frustration boil over in his eyes. Oli calmly took another step toward Flake as Richard made an exasperated sound.

"You're not his bloody wife, Flake," Richard said with a shake of his head. He lowered his voice and grumbled, "Even though everyone knows you both fucking want it, don't you?"

The sounds in the room came to a screeching halt. Paul had paused his random riffs to grab a water bottle, Schneider had stood up in case he needed to help diffuse the situation, Till had just stepped back up to the microphone and noticed the simmering argument, and all had managed to go silent right before Richard's mutterings. 

They all froze momentarily. Flake looked horrified, Schneider's face blushed with embarrassment, Till and Paul looked both regretful and worried, and Richard looked as though he'd just realized what he'd said aloud. 

"Fuck, wait, I didn't mean-- don't take that the wrong way, I just--" Richard tried to stammer out.

Flake slowly looked over to Schneider, and Flake's stricken face perfectly conveyed the question his mouth failed to ask. 

Schneider couldn't find the words he needed, or any at all as he tried to think of some way to both explain as well as understand the situation. 

"You lied?" Flake finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse and tight. 

Paul butted into the conversation, hurriedly trying to halt the train that was soon about to leap off the tracks.  
"Flake, no, that was me. I told him to tell you all of that; it was my fault--"

"Did you lie to me?" Flake interrupted Paul as he asked again, his eyes not leaving Schneider's widened, cornered gaze.

A moment passed in agonizing silence, and then Schneider answered in barely a whisper, "Yes."

Everyone turned to look at Flake. 

The man's throat tightened for just a moment as he swallowed. He gave a small nod, turned off his keyboard and quietly left the room. 

Schneider and Richard both tried to bolt after Flake, but Oli put out his hands and caught them both on either side of him. Till went to Richard to calm him and keep him in the studio while Oli held Schneider back. The drummer fought only for a moment before burying his head in his hands and then thunked it heavily against the wall. Paul walked by in a hurry, telling Schneider in passing not to worry, he would take care of it.

Oli put a comforting arm around Schneider's shoulders and glanced back to see Till doing likewise with Richard. Oli met Till's gaze for a moment, and the two exchanged a tired glance. They would have to spend at least one more evening with a house full of tense, emotional strain, it seemed. Oli took his arm from Schneider's shoulders and rubbed his back, though Schneider didn't seem to register the touch. He gently bumped his head against the wall repeatedly, muttering self-berating comments, "…so stupid, why the hell didn't I say it myself, I cant believe…"

As he gently slid his hand to cushion between Schneider's head and the wall he was banging it into, Oli thought to himself wryly, "The universe has very chaotic way of working its will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long (at least for me) wait on this chapter. The dialogue really took some work, for some reason, plus I kept having small one shot ideas crop up and refuse to leave. 
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient and sticking with me <3


	14. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS IN END NOTES
> 
> Paul chases after Flake but is unsuccessful in his talks with him.

While Oli and Till held Richard and Schneider inside the studio, Paul followed Flake outside.

He saw him on the phone, and caught the tail-end of him ordering a lift.  
"Flake, please," Paul begged as he ran up to his bandmate, "Don't leave. Please let me just talk to you first."

Flake didn't look at him as he ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He stared out across the street.  
"I don't think there's anything for you to say."

"Yes there is. It was my fault; I'm the one who forced Schneider to say what he did and lie to you about--"

"Did you hold a gun to his head?"

Flake's cool voice interrupted Paul's attempt at taking the blame. Paul faltered, then said, "No, but that's not--"

"Did you threaten his life or his family?"

Paul realized where Flake was going with his extreme line of questioning.  
"Look, Flake, I really didn't give him any other choice. He said what he did because of me."

"That's not true." Flake's tone was calm and resigned, and it unnerved Paul. "He said what he did because he chose to."

"Because I told him if he cared about you, he would keep his mouth shut!" Paul yelled desperately. "He did it because he cares for you."

"If he cared, wouldn't he have said fuck what everyone else says and told me anyway?"

Paul was torn. He could see where Flake was coming from, but the reasoning was all wrong.  
"Schneider lied to you because I told him your depression was his fault, that he'd hurt you to the point of you being nearly unresponsive."  
Paul shifted on his feet uncomfortably, but Flake still didn't look over. Instead, he crossed his arms tightly and continued to stare out into the darkness.

Paul continued, "I convinced him that to help you, he needed to apologize and tell you he didn't love you."

Paul saw Flake swallow, and his tightly folded arms trembled slightly.  
"But that's true. He doesn't love me," Flake said insistently. 

The stubbornness in Flake's tone was infuriating, but Paul knew it was coming from a place of deep insecurity. Flake had been this way since he was a child, denying the care of others based on his personal experiences to the contrary. 

Paul knew of Flake's nightmares, the ones that tormented him when his mental barriers crumbled. His drunken dreams always showcased the real uncertainty and fear that he hid quite well behind a sarcastic, standoffish front. Only Paul had really seen that fear inside him, but something told him Schneider has caught glimpses as well. The way he insisted on taking care of Flake, and ensuring others did too reminded Paul of himself over the years. He had been Flake's unofficial emotional caretaker, on the few occasions that Flake decided to open up, that is. It was a rare occurrence. 

"Flake," Paul said, an edge of desperation in his voice, "He was convinced he'd hurt you, badly. That was mostly my doing. Please don't fault him for an idiotic thing I did."

A car pulled up next to them, presumably the one Flake had called for. He started to get into the backseat, but Paul grabbed his arm.  
"You're not going anywhere without me."

Paul muscled his way into the car, unceremoniously pushing Flake to the other side of the backseat and closing the door behind him.

Flake glared but said nothing. He knew Paul could and would push him right out of the car if he wanted to, so he held his tongue and let him stay. 

"Talk to me, Flake," Paul insisted. "Please. I want to know what you're thinking and if I can help."

Flake sighed deeply, then pulled his glasses off and began cleaning them on the bottom of his shirt.  
"I think you've already helped enough."

Paul took that one with a grunt. He deserved it.  
"What can I do to help make it right, then?

After finishing cleaning his glasses, Flake put them back on and finally looked over at Paul.  
"I don't think you can. My issues aren't with you; they're with Schneider. He's the one who lied to my face--"

"Because I told him to," Paul tried to interject, but was cut off by Flake.

"--which he agreed to, regardless of the reasoning. I can't see how his "care" for me would prompt him to lie. It fucking hurts, Paul."

Paul saw a brief tremble in Flake's chin before the man turned to the window of the car, moving his back to face Paul. The shorter man sighed, realizing the depth of Flake's feelings. He wouldn't listen to his reasoning tonight, but that was all right, Paul decided. He would just do what he could to be available to Flake and watch him. 

The watching ended up being fairly important. Flake attempted to get blackout drunk, but Paul managed to cut him off before that point. He was still thoroughly drunk though, and Paul knew it was his way of working through his feelings. He'd done the same with the few breakups he'd had, when Aljoscha had passed away, and every night for a week after Schneider had tried to hang himself. Flake had done his best to keep it to himself, but Paul knew him better than anyone, and had the nightly duty of waking Flake up from nightmares about his discovery of Schneider strung up in his hotel room. 

He'd attempted to get Flake to see a therapist, but the man in the waking hours of the day insisted he was fine. Schneider hadn't been truly hurt and was safe at home, he rationalized. But Paul saw the darkness behind the man's glasses, buried deep in his blue eyes that always darted away when he tried to talk about it. He simply drank too much and slept nowhere near enough until exhaustion and a private threat of rehab got him to stop drinking. Paul hated giving him an ultimatum like that, but he knew how easily Flake clung to alcoholism when confronted with horrible life events. 

Now, he helped Flake to bed under strong protest from the drunken man, who insisted he was an adult who didn't need care from anybody.

"Hush, Flake," Paul said wearily. "Just try to sleep."  
Paul was tired, emotionally and physically, and had spent the past two hours containing Flake to his room instead of raging around the flat. Till and Richard had come home first, with Richard apologizing for letting slip what he said, and Till reassuring that Schneider and Oli would be back soon. Richard asked if he could apologize to Flake as well, but the man was already passed out in bed. They'd gone to their room then, and true to Till's word, Oli and Schneider came back soon after. 

Schneider immediately asked how Flake was and if he could talk to him, explaining his various texts and phone calls had gone unanswered. 

"He's drunk and asleep," Paul said with a sigh. "He wouldn't even talk to me, and now I have to stay with him because of nightmares."

Oli nudged Schneider, who nodded in response. Paul was too exhausted to guess what they were silently communicating. 

"Paul," Schneider asked hesitantly, "would it be too much if I sat with Flake? I've helped with his nightmares before, and it would give us a chance to talk when he wakes up."

Paul hugged him suddenly in gratefulness  
"Of course," he said. "I couldn't think of anyone better to help. Just, be easy with him when he wakes up. He might throw a fit when he sees you, but I know he'll come around."

Schneider gave a short nod, then grimaced.  
"I fucked this all up, didn't I?"

Paul shrugged. "It wasn't just you. You two might have had a much easier time if I'd kept my nose out of it."

"Well, it is what it is now, I guess."

"It'll work out," Oli said with an encouraging pat to Schneider's shoulder. "Reason always wins out with Flake."

Paul nodded in agreement. "You're sure you're good to stay with him tonight?"

"Yeah," Schneider said. "I think it's exactly where I need to be."

"Let me know if you need anything," Paul offered. "I'll be in my old room."

Paul gave Schneider a brief hug, then trudged down the hallway and into his room. 

Oli turned to Schneider, who heaved a resolute sigh.  
"You okay?" 

Schneider nodded.  
"Thank you, Oli. I really appreciate your help."

Oli smiled and inclined his head.  
"Don't worry about it. Good luck with it all, and text me if you need anything."

After a final pat on his shoulder, Oli turned and walked out of the flat, leaving Schneider alone in the empty hallway.

With another deep breath, Schneider quietly opened Flake's door and stepped inside. He was relieved to see the man was asleep, though part of him had admittedly wished he were still awake. The sooner he could talk to him, the sooner Schneider could ease the tension in his gut. 

He watched Flake for a few minutes, noting the rising and falling of his body underneath the blankets. He seemed so peaceful, and Schneider had a hard time imagining anything bad going on in his tousled head. But he knew just as well how deceiving outward looks were when it came to emotional hurt.

Schneider took several suitcases off of a nearby chair, then pulled the chair up close to the bed. He didn't feel right getting into bed with Flake, but still wanted to be close to watch over him. 

He sat down and pulled out his phone after another glance to check on his friend. Flake seemed to be sleeping quietly, so Schneider began typing on his phone. Every few minutes he looked up, ensuring Flake was still all right. The minutes crawled into hours, and before he realized, Schneider began nodding off intermittently. He tried to keep himself awake through writing, but sleep kept threatening to overwhelm him. 

When Schneider considered laying down in Paul's bed for the rest of the night, he heard Flake stir. It wasn't much, but Schneider knew the signs of Flake's incoming night terrors. As soon as he heard the first faint gasp, Schneider was in the bed, cradling and soothing his friend.

He hoped he'd gotten to him before the nightmare had become terribly bad, and Schneider went to work hushing and gently trying to wake his friend.

Flake woke slowly, a bleary, confused look on his face. He whimpered suddenly and clutched hard at Schneider's shirt, pulling himself into Schneider's chest.

"Easy, Flake; it's just me."

"You're okay?" he heard Flake ask fearfully, his face still pressed against his chest. 

"Yeah, I'm right here. Everything's fine."

Flake pulled back to raise his head and look up at Schneider. He seemed to gradually realize he wasn't dreaming anymore, and let his fierce hold on Schneider's shirt ease.

When he sat back in bed and scooted away from him, Schneider thought he looked overwhelmingly embarrassed.  
"Sorry," Flake muttered, and Schneider could just barely smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. He'd probably slept off the majority of it.

"Don't apologize," Schneider insisted. He watched Flake take a few breaths to settle himself, and then Schneider took a deep breath himself. Now was as good a time as any to get it over with, he supposed. 

Right before he spoke, Flake said softly, "Please don't talk about what happened at the studio."

Schneider closed his mouth, confused but willing to oblige.

Flake added with a touch of sarcasm, "Right after a nightmare isn't really an ideal conversation scenario."

The two sat on the bed in silence, Flake under the blanket and Schneider atop it. The only sounds in the room were an occasional patter against the window with light howls of wind against the apartment. It must be raining.

"If you don't want to talk about what happened," Schneider offered, "would you rather talk about your nightmares?"

Flake rubbed his eyes and sighed, but the sigh was less irritated and more resigned.  
"I'd rather not, but it seems a fair thing to do when you've helped with them, what is it, three times now?"

Schneider just shrugged.  
"I've not really been keeping count."

"Whatever the number, it's significant. I actually remembered my nightmare this time," Flake said. "That never happens. I usually wake up after they're done or something; I don't know. I just wake up scared."

Schneider nodded, hoping his silence would encourage Flake to continue. He clearly needed to talk, but at his own pace. Perhaps this would allow Flake to calm down further and let Schneider speak when the time came.

"I don't know if they're the same every time. There's no way to know for sure, obviously; but the scenario felt very familiar, like I'd been in it dozens of time. So I guess it's a safe assumption this is a regular dream."

Flake cleared his throat, then moved a bit further from Schneider and shuffled under the blankets more. It took him a few moments before he continued, in a much quieter voice, "It was about when I found you in the hotel."

Schneider's throat tightened reflexively at the memory. While most of it was a blur to him, since he'd nearly drank himself unconscious before tying himself up, he did still remember the cold fear in his stomach when he realized he was actually going to die. 

And then Flake had burst in. He'd only barely been able to make out his friend's lanky figure in the doorway as he'd been about to pass out completely and asphyxiate. He didn't remember Flake rescuing him, but the feeling of that entire situation clawed its way through his mind and left a shameful disgust in its wake.

"I'm so sorry--" he whispered, but Flake shook his head. 

"Like you just said, don't apologize. It's something that's done and far past, and I'm just retelling a different version of it. Please don't feel badly."

Flake wrapped his arms around himself tightly and rubbed, trying to chase away an internal chill.  
"It was pretty much the same as how I actually found you, hung in the corner, w-w-with your face turning dark. But when you reached your hand out this time, I couldn't move. I just-- just watched you suffocate and die. Couldn't move, c-couldn't scream, nothing. J-just watched as you choked to death."

Schneider watched miserably as Flake unfolded his arms, then drew up his knees and held them tight to his chest. For as gangly as the man was, he was quite flexible, and could make himself seem so small wrapped up like that. It reminded Schneider of the last time he "rescued" Flake from a nightmare, holding him as if he were no more than a scared child.

He didn't even notice that he'd started crying. The tears had just brimmed without warning, overflowing Schneider's eyes and silently streaking down his face as he realized the extent of the pain he'd caused Flake over the years. It made his heart hurt.

When he saw the hitching of Flake's shoulders as the man buried his face into his knees, Schneider reached for him. Flake offered no resistance as he was pulled into Schneider's embrace, with his head tucked tightly under his chin and against Schneider's chest. He felt small, tear sized wetness spreading on his shirt, but paid it no mind. He was surely getting tears in Flake's hair as well. 

The two sat, with nothing but the sound of pattering rain and the winds of a storm outside. 

Schneider didn't know how long they stayed like that before he spoke, but it seemed a very, very long time.  
"I care about you, Flake," he murmured, his throat tight and giving a slight roughness to his voice. "So very much. I was an idiot to lie to you. I'd take it back instantly if I could. I just wanted you to be okay, and not to hurt because of me."

Schneider heaved a sigh.  
"I guess you still do regardless."

Flake tried to protest then, struggling to free himself from Schneider's hold. Schneider held firm, though, and shushed him.  
"It's just the truth. But I want to make it better; I want to fix this, even though I might not know exactly how."

Schneider finally let Flake loose from his hold, and held him back just a bit to look him fully in the eye. Flake's eyes were reddened, as he was sure his own were as well. He did his very best to keep his voice steady as he finally poured his heart out to his friend.

"Flake, I love you. I've been stupid and unwilling to admit it for a long time. But every last bit of me wants to care for you, protect you, make you smile and laugh and just be near you. The two weeks I was gone were hellish, not just because of missing my band, but missing *you*."

Schneider paused, waiting for some sort of reaction from Flake. When none seemed to come and Flake remained silently staring at him, he took another deep breath and finished his speech.  
"I don't want you to take this as any kind of coerced confession, or just an attempt to make you feel better. I know I don't exactly have a good track record for honesty, but I promise--"

"I know you're not lying," Flake finally spoke up, his voice low and even. 

Schneider snapped his mouth closed, not at all bothered at being interrupted. 

"I know you care. You don't cry while listening to someone talk about their own hurt if you don't care about them. You don't sit and hold someone when they're having a nightmare if you dont care about them. And you sure as fuck don't bother coming to sit with someone for hours to convince them you care for them if you don't care about them. I believe you."

Schneider smiled at that, but waited further for Flake to continue.

The thinner man sighed and began plucking at loose strings on the blanket.  
"I really appreciate you telling me all of this…" his voice trailed off.

"…but?" Schneider asked with a sinking heart. 

"But, I need some time. I have to think, I need to figure out how I feel, how I *really* feel without the stress and chaos of the band in shambles and everyone running around on tour."

Schneider felt like falling over in relief. Flake wasn't rejecting his profession outright, or if he were, he were doing it suspiciously nicely and in the most roundabout way possible. No, he was being truthful, Schneider determined. Flake was nothing if not blunt and honest. 

Flake gave a pained look up at him then.  
"Are you upset at me?"

"Of course not."

"Will you be?"

"I don't know. I can't see into the future, unfortunately. Be really cool if I could, though."

Flake rolled his eyes and said, "I'm being serious. I don't want you sitting around being all out of sorts or distressed."

A half smile quirked at Schneider's mouth when he realized Flake was showing care for him in his own odd little way.  
"No, Flake. You asking for time to figure things out will not make me upset in any way."

Flake heaved a relieved sigh.  
"Good. Thank you, Christoph. I mean that; for everything."

Schneider simply nodded and stood up.  
"You don't need to thank me for anything. Do you still feel drunk? Are you worried about more nightmares?"

Flake thought for a moment, then shook his head as he replied, "No. I feel remarkably sober."

"All right. You should get some sleep, then. It's ridiculously late, and I'm sure they'll want us to regroup and rehearse again as soon as possible."

Schneider stood up from the bed and stretched his aching legs. They'd gotten cramped from sitting on top of them for so long. He paused at the door to give Flake another kind smile.  
"Träum süss, Flake."

Schneider heard a cough as he opened the door, and turned back to look.

Flake was still sitting up in bed, continuing to fidget with his strings.  
"Could you stay anyway?" Flake asked hesitantly. "Just in case?"

Schneider didn't need to be asked twice. He softly closed the door, hauled off his shirt and kicked his jeans off, then climbed into bed with his friend. Flake scooted well over to give him some room, which Schneider respected. 

They lay in silence for a few moments, the rain continuing to pelt the window gently. The wind had died down to a low hum, but there was still a little chill in the room from it.

Schneider felt pleased that he was so close to Flake and able to continue being close through the rest of the night. His tired eyes drooped closed, and he soon felt the creeping warmth of another body slowly inching toward him. He smiled to himself and remained still, allowing Flake to make moves as he wished, at his own pace. 

Flake finally settled with his back just barely touching Schneider's chest, and one foot tentatively placed over Schneider's foot. Before Schneider fully drifted off to sleep, he was overwhelmed by a sense of contentedness.

It was warm, it was peaceful, and it felt right. Let come what may tomorrow; for right now, everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for brief but graphic mentions of suicide


	15. About Damn Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till and Richard *finally* get some time to themselves.

Richard woke with his dick impossibly, painfully hard. 

He'd lost track of how long it had been since he and Till last had sex, due to the chaos and angst and general disarray of their lives recently; not to mention near-constant interruptions whenever they finally managed to be alone. The lack of physical affection and release had made him short tempered and snappy, which had been a huge factor in his slip-of-the-tongue the night before. Richard still felt badly about that, but Till reasoned with him that it was probably for the best as they'd fallen into bed the night before. Till had tried to love on him then, but Richard had been far too disappointed in himself to get even remotely in the mood.

Now, though, very early in the morning, his body was giving him no choice. Guilt over Flake's love problems would have to wait until he'd stuck his dick in something.

He flipped over in bed to start rubbing across Till's broad back, sliding his hands across toughened muscle and the softer skin around his waist. Richard looped his arms around the bigger man, sliding his hands to Till's chest as he pressed his erection against his backside. He gave him small hump, and whined at the pleasure of it.

Fuck, did he need to get off. 

Richard began aggressively grabbing at his chest and pushing his hips hard into his boyfriend, stealing friction from Till's naked ass cheeks against his dick. 

A rumbling in Till's chest under his hands alerted Richard that his partner was waking up, and was very pleased with him based on how long the rumble lasted. That alerted him, plus Till's already hard cock as well, Richard noted as he peeked over the man's hips.

"Fucking finally," Till growled. His voice was still a bit heavy from sleep, but he seemed to wake quickly, snagging one of Richard's hands from his chest and pulling it to his face. 

Richard gasped as Till, without any warning, took three of Richard's fingers and began greedily sucking at them. Richard's pulse exploded at the feeling of the man's skilled tongue wrapping around him, pumping the fingers in and out crudely while Richard fought to catch his breath from it. He resumed his frantic thrusting at Till's ass, but Till suddenly caught Richard's hip and stopped him. 

Richard was about to voice a very strong complaint before Till messily pulled Richard's fingers from his mouth. He placed Richard's now-wet hand behind him and onto Richard's own dick, then used his other hand to spread his ass cheek for him

"Wh-- oh, *oh.*" 

It finally clicked in Richard's lust-clouded head, and he hurriedly stroked himself with Till's spit while Till gave a small snort of amusement.

With only a small thought to whether he should go slowly, Richard bucked himself right into Till. His speed wouldn't have mattered anyway, as Till roughly pushed himself back into Richard, hilting him inside before already beginning to ride him. Richard caught up quickly, grabbing at Till's hips and using them as leverage for harder thrusts.

It took less than a minute for Richard's panting to become staggered moans, and Till threw a hand back to grab at Richard and pull him close. He then rolled them from their position on their sides to an upright one. Richard readjusted onto his knees and began pumping with renewed vigor. When his moans finally switched to high pitched, gasping whines of arousal, Till reached back again with a snarl and grabbed Richard's arms from their hold on his hips. 

Till pulled them down around himself in a very tight hold, forcing Richard to finish while laying heavily on Till's back and his arms grabbing firmly around Till's belly. Richard's head was pressed to the back of Till's neck; he opened his mouth to try and bite at it, but only managed to rest his teeth and lips against the man's skin before his orgasm overwhelmed him, obliterating any rational thought. He staggered himself into an even more tightly pressed hold, pushing as far deep inside as physics allowed.

Till grunted softly in time with Richard's pulses. His head hung low, and he began panting while Richard unconsciously mouthed at his neck while he finished. 

Before Richard could dizzily slide off of his now-limp spot atop Till's back, Till sat up abruptly. Richard slipped out of him, still slightly hard and only barely coherent. He gladly let himself be manhandled, and was pushed down onto his belly and his head pulled to Till's groin. He opened his mouth as Till immediately pushed himself at Richard's face. Once given access, Till groaned surprisingly loud and began thrusting in short jerks into Richard's mouth. He tightly gripped Richard's tousled hair for control.

Feeling his face pulled hard into Till's crotch, and his chin becoming sticky from his own mess that was leaking from Till, he felt an insane combination of arousal and euphoria as he was still freshly post-orgasm.

Well before Richard could begin worrying about whether his awkward position would start hurting, Till choked out "--fuck," and came in his mouth, hard. He didn't stop his rough pumping, and Richard wasn't given enough time to properly swallow. Till messily continued to face-fuck him, with some of the mess being forced out the side of Richard's mouth as he did so. 

Finally, Till began softening and he pulled free of Richard's well-defiled face with a huge sigh of relief. He flopped back onto the bed, spent and winded. Richard did the same, not even bothering to wipe his stickied face. Till lolled his head to the side to look at Richard, who gasped for air like a fish out of water.

"Shit, Rich," Till breathed, "you look hot as fuck."

Richard forced an eye open to look over at Till, who was raking his eyes up and down Richard's body, settling on his face with a smouldering look.  
"You're hot as fuck yourself," Richard assured, swallowing and slowly beginning to collect himself. He wiped his face on the bed sheet. "Shit."

"Shit indeed," Till chuckled, reaching an arm out to lazily hold Richard's calf.

Richard hummed in pleasure and laid his hand on Till's.  
"I feel astoundingly better."

"Likewise."

After a few peaceful moments, a knock at the door turned both their heads.

"Come in," they said at the same time.  
Richard grinned at Till, who squeezed his leg affectionately.

Schneider poked his head in, then immediately scrunched his eyes shut as he saw the two naked and sprawled across their bed. Till chuckled as he reached down for a pair of shorts, while Richard threw blankets over himself politely.

"Um, I'd guess no, but have either of you seen Flake this morning?"

"He missing?" Till asked, hauling up his shorts and sitting back down on the bed.

Schneider stepped into the room once Richard and Till were decent. "I think he got up early and went somewhere. He left his phone in his room."

Till made a thoughtful noise and Richard looked at him with a slightly worried look.

"Do you think he's still upset?" Richard asked, his earlier guilt creeping back.

Schneider shook his head, then rubbed the back of his neck. Before he could explain, Till brightened and interrupted him.  
"They slept together."

Richard got an excited look, but Schneider waved his hands in a hurried, dismissive motion.  
"No, no, not like that. It was just the nightmares thing. I just sat with him and we fell asleep. "

"Did you two talk?" Till asked.

"Yes, sort of. I told him how I felt, at least."

Richard leaned forward expectantly, but Schneider just shrugged.  
"That's all it was. Flake just said he needed time to think about it. That's why I figured he'd left for a walk or something."

Richard's hopeful face fell, but Till seemed surprisingly cheerful.  
"I think I know where he's gone," Till said, standing up from the bed. "And if it's all right with you, I'd like to go find him and talk to him myself."

Schneider looked a bit concerned, but Till assured him, "He's gone to see his horse, I'm sure. He always treks out there when he needs to be alone and think."

"Shouldn't you let him be alone, then?" Schneider asked.

"Of course not. I want to know what on earth made him hesitate to be your boyfriend."

Schneider groaned while Richard stifled a laugh.  
"Please don't make anything worse," Schneider begged, his head in one of his hands in resignation.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Till reassured as he finished tying his shoes. "I think Flake needs some of my good mood rubbed off on him. I'll bring him home in better shape than he left, I swear."

Schneider had some strong doubts about the validity of that statement as Till gave Richard a peck on the lips before hurrying off.


	16. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till finds Flake and gives him some much needed advice.

Till parked his car near the barn where Flake usually parked. His car was absent now though, and Till wondered whether he'd guessed Flake's location incorrectly. Till walked up to the rustic barn and peered inside. He didn't hear any rustling from Flake's horse, or the normal shuffling of Flake's footsteps. Till turned his head and spotted a rusty bicycle leaned against the inside of the main door, and he sighed in relief. It was Flake's old death trap of a bicycle. Till had teased him relentlessly about it, promising it would one day soon evaporate completely in a puff of rust and wear from its age. But Flake was stubborn in his likes and dislikes, and that old bike was one of his strongest favorites. 

Till walked along the little worn dirt path that led from the barn down to where Flake usually groomed his horse. He liked doing it outside of the barn, reasoning it gave the horse some fresh air and "scenery," as Flake put it. Till had his doubts about whether the animal had any concept of "scenery," but it was sweet that Flake was so considerate of it regardless. 

The path wound up a hill, and curved around a spreading tree next to the clearing used for grooming. Till heard Flake's rambling chatter before he even crested the hill, and he knew Flake was recounting his troubles to his horse. He approached quietly, choosing to stay mostly hidden behind the tree. Flake's back was to him anyhow as he brushed the animal, but Till was curious was Flake had to say to it.

"--which led to him sleeping with me. Not "sleeping" sleeping, just sleeping in the same bed. I, well, I moved close to him when he slept, but I didn't do anything. I don't know if I wanted to. I don't know much of anything right now. I hate that feeling. I like having all the answers; I like everyone coming to me for advice. I have a lot of it, you know, and it's quite good."

Till watched Flake pause to tap off the hair and dirt that had collected on his brush before continuing his one-sided conversation.  
"I wish I was half as good at giving advice to myself. My problems seem so much more complicated and diverse. That's not my ego talking either, thank you. They're just more delicate. With Till, all he needed to do was tell Richard how he felt, and then later close his mouth and keep his hands to himself. Not hard. Meanwhile, I have to not only dissect my feelings and nail them down, but figure out what to do with them. Till loved Richard; it was painfully obvious. I suppose Schneider might love me as well, but the risk of him just bouncing from one thing to the next is too much."

Flake sighed loudly and dropped his head against his horse's belly. It turned its head quizzically and nosed at his side, which prompted Flake to raise a hand absently and pat him, his own forehead still planted against the animal.  
"Hopeless," Flake bemoaned. "Absolutely hopeless. I should never have drank with him. Maybe then I'd not be so confused. Having someone hump you and finish on your back tends to cloud your thinking a bit, just so you know."

The horse shook its head in response and Flake chuckled.  
"You're lucky you only have sex a few times a year," Flake said ruefully, raising his head and going back to brushing.  
"And even then it's specifically to make a baby, not for pleasure. You don't get your feelings involved. Lucky son of a bitch."

Till stepped out from behind the tree and strolled up then, reminding with almost a yell, "At least you're better hung than he is. I'm sure he's quite jealous of you as well."

Flake ducked behind his horse, startled at the sudden sound of Till's far too loud voice. His horse squealed simultaneously because of Flake's abrupt movement and threw its head up in alarm. Till walked over and soothed it, offering some apple slices he'd brought with him. 

"Jesus fuck, Lindemann, what the hell is wrong with you?" Flake sputtered angrily. "You could have seriously spooked him, and if he runs off, I'm not fetching him: *you* are, you loud-mouthed --"

"Hush, Flake. It's not good to be angry around sensitive animals like him."  
Till fondly rubbed at the horse's soft nose as it munched away at his apples, bobbing its head in approval of the snack. Till shot a smug look at Flake.

Flake fumed, but closed his mouth, if only to keep from upsetting his horse. He suddenly realized that Till had responded to his solo conversation, and heat creeped up his neck.

"How-- what all did you hear?" he stammered guiltily.

Till chuckled as the horse aggressively nosed at him for more apples.  
"Enough for context. And a bit more," he winked at Flake, who buried his face in the horse's mane in embarrassment. 

"You'll have to elaborate on the humping story eventually--"

"Why are you here?" Flake interrupted. His voice was muffled in the horse's hair.

"You left your phone at the apartment."

"Yes. I wanted time alone for a bit."

"You need your phone, Flake," Till chided, while trying to show the insistent horse his pockets were now empty. It nosed him harder, apparently not believing him.  
"Especially if you're riding that damn bicycle'" Till continued. You'll need someone to rescue you when it finally gives out."

Flake raised his head to glare at Till over the horse.  
"The bicycle is fine. And my phone stresses me out."

"Why?"

Flake blew out a frustrated breath and said, "I don't know. I've never felt, I guess, "beholden" to anyone before. Now I do."

"Beholden how?"

"I really don't know. I just sort of feel like I owe Christoph something. He confessed he has feelings for me, loves me, even, and I feel obligated to say *something.* I just don't know what."

Till nuzzled the front of the horse's head, and then walked over to the side Flake was on. "You're saying that a lot: "I don't know." Is there anything you *do* know?"

An exasperated noise left Flake's mouth, and Till almost laughed.  
"No. Well, I know I'm confused. That's about it."

All, right," Till stated confidently. "Then let's start at the very beginning and figure it out."  
He walked over to Flake's side of the horse, and Flake eyed him warily.

"What beginning?" Flake asked suspiciously.

Till smirked. "Do you like men?"

Till had to suddenly dodge the grooming brush that Flake threw at his head in response.  
"I'll take that as a "yes." Good, that's one thing you know right there."

"That was never an issue I concerned myself with," Flake said sourly. "Irrelevant."

"Not irrelevant," Till countered, picking up the brush and doing some grooming himself. The horse snuffed happily.  
"I'm trying to set a base for you to build your thoughts on, starting with the basics. Now that we have orientation, what about Schneider? Are you attracted to him specifically?"

The redness that suddenly spread up Flake's neck told Till all he needed to know, but he waited for Flake to say it anyway.

"Yes," he admitted. "He's an attractive man."

"And do you find him interesting as a person? Do you like his personality?" Till passed the brush back to Flake so he could continue petting the nosey horse.

Flake took his time thinking on that question, chewing on his lip as he did so.  
"I find myself more curious about him than anybody else," he answered slowly. "His personality does have a draw. I suppose, yes-- he's interesting as a person and I like his personality."

"Very good!" Till enthused, and though Flake rolled his eyes sarcastically, Till saw his consternation soften slightly.  
"That's a very good start. You have some attraction, and it's more than just physical."

"I'd say the physical aspect ranks far lower than the emotional," Flake muttered, his face reddening from being so open.

"That's even better. You like him for *him*, not just his body. You're friends first, which is by far the most important thing."

For once, Flake had no snappy answer or sarcastic comeback. He brushed the horse in silence, with bugs and birds being the only noises surrounding them.

"I think you love him," Till ventured softly. "I also think you've not loved anyone in a very, very long time; that's why you're so reluctant with it."

"There are other reasons," Flake corrected.

"Tell me."

Till stopped rubbing the horse's forehead so he could turn and look Flake in the eye. Flake shuffled further away from the look, trying to busy himself down his horse's back leg.  
"I don't think I should say."

Till knelt to Flake's level and waited patiently, but when Flake tried again to move away, Till said, "If you're referring to when Schneider was "sick" back then, Richard told me."

Flake didn't answer.

"You know he's a different person now. He's steady, he loves his life, and now that we have all of that shit in the past, he's happier than ever. Couldn't have hand picked better timing for you two."

"Relationships always bring trouble," Flake insisted, though the protest was weak. He was arguing just to argue at this point, Till knew. He wanted to be reassured.

"You've seen how Richard and I manage."

"I've also seen you two nearly destroy each other," a quip rose up from under the horse's belly. 

"And we always come back to one another and heal, better than before. Flake, look at me. Do I seem more or less consistently happy now than before I started dating Richard? I won't pretend we've not had trouble, because we have-- a lot of it. But can you see our relationship and tell me we both aren't leaps and bounds better off than before?"

Flake slowly drew his head up and stared at Till from around the horse's leg. He sighed, then said quietly, "Yes. You both are happier, more than I've ever seen."

"And if a dismal, miserable old lump of man like myself can be happy, how much happier might someone as pleasant and cheery as yourself be?"

Till laughed and braced himself to dodge another brush throw, but Flake just grinned and finished brushing the leg down.  
"You're right. I might have to be prepared for utter euphoria on a daily basis. Perhaps total transcendance."

Till chuckled and asked as he stood up, giving a hand to help Flake stand as well, "So, you've decided?"

Flake grabbed Till's offered hand to stand up, then brushed himself off. "As much as I feel like I can, yes. I'm nothing if not logical. I can't think of any reason great enough not to at least try."

Till grabbed him in a hug suddenly, crushing the thinner man tightly against him. Flake made a disgruntled noise but it was muffled by his face squished into Till's shirt.  
"You two will make a wonderful couple," Till enthused. "I really believe that, and wish you the best."

"I can't date him if I asphyxiate," Flake protested amidst the overly-tight hug.

With another chuckle, Till released Flake. He staggered back and immediately began smoothing his shirt back into place and adjusting his hat. 

"What are you going to tell him?" Till asked.

"I'm sure I'll think of something. Come, help me pack up the tack. I have to get going or it'll be dark by the time I make it back home."

"Don't be ridiculous," Till said. "I'll drive you home."

The two made their way back to the barn and secured Flake's horse in his stall. He mentioned someone would be by in the morning to turn him back out to pasture.

"You really don't need to drive me," Flake said as they closed the barn up and he pushed his bike along the path.

"I know. But I want to. It's been too long since we've spent time together."

"That's true. You've been fairly "preoccupied."

Till grinned at Flake's pointedly raised eyebrow.

"I take it that's why you're so cheery today?"

"Perhaps."  
Till tossed the bike into his trunk, and protests from Flake followed.  
"If you didn't have such an old, fragile little bicycle," Till insisted, "you'd not need to worry about it bumping around."

Flake hmphed but didn't argue further as he got into the car.

"We just need to make one quick stop," Till said as they pulled away from the property and onto the road.

\----------

A short time later found them perusing through a grocery store. Flake opted to get a few things for cooking, since the kitchen had been a bit neglected lately and he would now be cooking for at least 5 of them now. Till busied himself getting a few candies and for some reason taking a long time looking at a small display of flowers.

"What are you doing?" Flake asked. "It's not the right time of year for planting flowers."

"I'm not planting, I'm giving," Till explained, finally choosing a small bouquet of colorful daisies.

Flake wrinkled his forehead at him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why give flowers? I mean, I know "why," but why not something that lasts?"

"I got chocolates too," Till said, confused.

"Nevermind." Flake waved a hand dismissively.

"No, no, I'm curious what you mean. Why do I give flowers instead of, what, like a non-perishable gift?"

"Yes. It seems more meaningful than something that will die in a day or two."

"Well, I personally could take them or leave them," Till explained. "They don't mean much to me unless I've grown them myself."

"Then why buy them instead of a different gift?" Flake seemed legitimately puzzled by this. Till suddenly realized this could be a very meaningful teachable moment for Flake.

"Here," Till said, and plucked a bright orange daisy from his bouquet. "Give this to Schneider when you tell him how you feel."

Flake took the flower and stared at it critically. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm about to. You don't give gifts because they make sense to *you* or because *you* like them the most. You give gifts because it makes the other person happy. Richard loves bright flowers, and seeing how happy they make him makes *me* happy, even if I don't care for them myself. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose…"

"Trust me, you'll understand it when you see for yourself. Orange is Doom's favorite color, and he loves flowers."

"He prefers orchids," Flake mused. "But I suppose you're right."

"See there!" Till exclaimed, slapping Flake on the back encouragingly, "you already know his favorite color *and* flower. You'll be such a good couple."

Flake grumbled, but kept the flower, even going so far as carefully wrapping it in a plastic bag to keep it safe as they paid and got back into the car. 

\----------

When they got back to the flat, Flake fully intended to drop the groceries off in the kitchen, and then sneak back to his room to spend a good while thinking about what to say.

Till, however, had other ideas.

"WE'RE HOME," he bellowed as they entered the door, causing Flake's ear to ring.

"God dammit," he growled, rubbing his ear. "I've only got one good ear left and you're going to ruin it."

Richard immediately came bounding around the hallway corner happily, smiling even wider when Till held out the flowers and chocolates to him. After taking them, Richard grabbed Till in a hug and kissed him soundly. Flake continued his grumbling and scooted out of their way. 

He nearly bumped into Schneider who'd come around the corner quickly as well. Schneider apologized, then just stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say or do. He'd come running up like an excited puppy whose human had just come home, and seemed to suddenly realize how ridiculous he looked. 

"Um, welcome home," Schneider said, sticking his hand out in greeting after appearing to deliberate whether or not to offer a hug.

Flake sighed, then pointed to his room with a soft smile instead of taking Schneider's hand.  
"Let me put the groceries in the kitchen first, then I have something for you."

Schneider smiled, then took one of the bags from Flake's arms.  
"I'll help you, then."

Richard and Till, still in a happy embrace, watched with goofy smiles as Schneider followed Flake into the kitchen.

"They're so cute," Richard said.

"They really are," Till agreed, then reached over and swept Richard up entirely into his arms to carry to his room.


	17. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake finally explains his side of things to Schneider. It goes quite well.

After Flake had meticulously put away the groceries, and taken quite a bit of time to do so, Schneider thought, Flake motioned for Schneider to follow him back to his bedroom. 

He did so, noticing that Flake seemed to be clenching his hands at his sides more tightly than he normally did; one of his hands gripped a dark plastic bag that had Schneider wildly curious. Flake's damned expressions were impossible to read when he was being serious; and both Richard and Till had retreated to their room right after Flake and Schneider went to the kitchen, so they'd been no use to figure out what Flake was thinking. It had felt intrusive to him to bring anything up first, or ask where he'd been, so Schneider stayed quiet. 

Flake closed the door behind them, and Schneider opted to sit on the chair that was still sitting beside the bed from last night. Flake went to the desk, one that Schneider wondered if it ever got used, but seemed to decide against it and sat on the bed instead. He set the plastic bag down, then pulled his glasses off and rubbed them on the bottom of his shirt. Schneider saw his hands shaking slightly.

"Flake, you don't need to be nervous. Nothing you can tell me will upset me enough for you to be nervous, I promise."

Flake sighed and put his glasses back on. He crossed his arms tightly, not appearing to heed Schneider's words.  
"I was hoping to have a bit longer to figure out what I wanted to say," he began in what sounded like part apology, part excuse. 

Schneider was about to assure him yet again he didn't need to apologize for anything or be so anxious, but Flake continued his little speech.  
"I still don't have everything figured out as detailed as I would like, but I realized that I suppose I don't need to. Till reminded me that I do have the important things figured out; I just needed to be reminded of them, which he so generously did."

Schneider smiled. Till and Flake had a special friendship that he knew entailed a deep understanding of one another, and he was thankful that Till had gone after him today. Whatever he'd said, it at least had gotten Flake to communicate rather than run away. 

"What important things?" Schneider asked.

Flake chuckled somewhat nervously, and Schneider watched his face heat up as he said, "Well, he reminded me I like men, and helped me realize I am attracted to you physically."

A grin spread across Schneider's face, and his stomach fluttered at Flake's no-nonsense statement, something he'd not felt in a very, very long time.  
"As I'm sure you know, I find you attractive as well, Flake."

Flake put up a hand to stop him and became even more red-faced.  
"I need to finish before I die of embarrassment, please."

Schneider made a "go on" motion, but his smile stayed firmly plastered across his face.

"I also realized I find you extremely interesting as a person and I like your personality," he said, counting the things on his fingers though his arms stayed tightly pinned to his side.  
"I don't know about love yet, and I'm sorry I can't just tell you the same thing you told me last night. I still have some things to work through and sort out. But…"

Here, Flake took a huge breath in, and Schneider was drawn to the way his chest raised up with the movement, momentarily correcting his normally terrible posture. He released the breath and scratched at the back of his neck with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around his middle.  
"But, I suppose-- I mean, I don't see any reason-- I d-don't know why not--"

"Flake, would you like to go on a date with me?" Schneider asked gently, hoping his interruption might help Flake break out of his stuttering nervousness.

Flake sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, smudging them again, Schneider saw with some amusement. Flake looked up and smiled, and Schneider took that as silent thanks for the interruption.  
"Yes. I would like to date you, at least to try it. I don't know how it'll work out, and I can't promise I won't be an awkward mess because I have no idea what all is involved or what to do or even if this will--"

His rambling cut short as Schneider leaned forward in his chair, closing the small distance between he and Flake and resting his hand on Flake's knee. The thinner man ducked his head to look at the hand, then glanced back up at Schneider, who was waiting politely, but still very close to his face. Flake swallowed noisily.

"Can I kiss you?" Schneider asked, his voice little more than a breathy whisper. 

Flake made a flustered noise, and shuffled his legs nervously.  
"I, well-- yes."

Schneider was a tiny bit suprised at the direct answer, but he didn't waste the opportunity. He leaned further in, and felt another flutter in his stomach as Flake's hot breath hit against his mouth. He paused only for a second to enjoy the anticipation, then gently pressed his lips to Flake's.

The room didn't explode with fireworks, and the world didn't suddenly fade into a whirlwind of sunshine and rainbows, but the feeling of Flake's soft lips pushed to his, very slowly easing into a deeper kiss, and hesitantly welcoming when he moved his mouth against him-- its simplicity was more beautiful than Schneider could have imagined. 

Above all else, it felt overwhelmingly *right.*

He tried to stifle it, but a tiny moan slipped from Schneider's mouth when he moved and further deepened the kiss. Flake seemed to flinch a bit at the sound, and Schneider pulled back cautiously.

Flake's mouth hung open, and his eyes looked slightly dazed as they stared widely at him. Schneider watched with rapt attention as the man's Adam's apple moved when he swallowed again. 

"Uh, here," Flake said abruptly, scooting backward and away from Schneider as he grabbed the plastic bag beside him. He thrust it forward to Schneider, who sat back heavily in his chair as he took it.  
"It's a gift," Flake clarified. 

Schneider carefully unwrapped the bag and was stunned to find a bright orange daisy. He turned it over in his hands, amazed at the beauty of the delicate little flower.

"Um, I know you prefer orchids, but they didn't have any, and if I'd had the time I would have looked for a better gift, but I know you like orange, and Till was buying flowers anyway--"

"It's beautiful," Schneider said, holding the flower up to his nose appreciatively. Unlike other flowers, daisies smelled like bitter earth, a scent Schneider absolutely adored, though most found it pungent and unpleasant. He looked up at Flake's worried face and smiled encouragingly.  
"Really Flake, I absolutely love it. Thank you, so much."

He watched as Flake's tense face eased at that, and a smile quirked at Flake's mouth.  
"Admittedly, Till was the one who insisted on my giving you the flower."

"I figured as much, but it means a lot that you actually did," Schneider assured. "I know flowers aren't really your thing."

Flake's mouth opened slightly in surprise.  
"How did you know that?"

Schneider shrugged and asked in response, "How did you know I prefer orchids over daisies?"

"I don't know. I guess I heard you say it at some point."

"And the same for me. You pick up things from the people you love."

Flake instantly reddened, and Schneider made a note to tone it back a bit to keep him from feeling uncomfortable or pressured. 

"Anyway, I really love this flower. Can I put it in a vase on the kitchen table?"

Flake nodded, a shy smile on his face.  
"You may have to fight Richard for one. Till was a little more… exhuberant, with his flower-giving."

"Richard's a sap for traditional romantic gestures," Schneider said. "And this little guy can fit in almost anything, which is certainly a benefit over a bouquet."

Flake seemed pleased by that, and Schneider supposed he'd been worried that his gift wasn't as good. 

Schneider leaned forward and hugged Flake, who just patted his back lightly in return.  
"I'm glad you like it," he said, a bit awkwardly.

Schneider let him go. Though he would much rather have kissed him again, he knew he would need to take things slow with Flake, and ease him into whatever they were embarking on together. He didn't mind it, though, he thought to himself as they made their way to the kitchen to hunt for a suitable flower-display.

Flake chatted about what he'd bought at the store to cook for the household, listing the different flavors and giving a very detailed explanation to how they all would mesh together in his dish he had planned. After setting the daisy in a small vase with water, Schneider proudly set the flower on the dining room table, admiring the bright color in the middle of the dark wood. 

"It actually does look rather pretty," Flake admitted, a thoughtful hand pressed to his mouth.

"I really do love it," Schneider insisted, sliding his hand gently around Flake's waist as he stood beside him. He squeezed lightly, then withdrew his hand so as not to fluster the man unnecessarily.

The two gazed at the flower for a few moments, then Flake cleared his throat.  
"Do you, ah, like old war documentaries?" he asked hesitantly.

While Schneider had no opinion on documentaries whatsoever, the prospect of sitting near and possibly snuggling up with Flake while they watched one was terribly exciting.

"If you're asking me if I'd like to watch one with you, the answer is yes."

Flake looked relieved, then went into the living room to hunt through their luggage for his small case of movies. Schneider followed again, and tried his best to listen attentively as Flake explained the intricacies of the movie he was about to play. Some of the details blurred, however, as Schneider became much more interested in watching how Flake's face lit up as he talked about something that interested him. His eyes brightened and his entire body seemed much less tense when he did so. Flake was so utterly fascinating, and Schneider was thrilled that the man had, at the very least, admitted he had feelings for him as well.

Schneider felt the flutter in his stomach again as Flake sat down next to him on the couch, still chatting away about the movie. He smiled, then scooted closer and slowly slid his arm around Flake's shoulders.

The touch made Flake lose his train of thought and tense up, and Schneider asked, "Is this ok?"

Flake hesitated for a moment, but nodded.  
"Y-y-yes," he stuttered, then swore at himself. "Sorry."

Schneider squeezed his grip around Flake and shushed him.  
"Don't ever apologize for that. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. Now tell me more about the documentary. What made this time period so important?"

Flake's tightened muscles eased slightly at that, and he began to talk again, his stutter disappearing as he got back into his flow.

Schneider spent a blissful two hours holding and leaning up against Flake, who gleefully chimed in every few minutes with an interesting fact or clarification during the film. Schneider couldn't have thought of a more perfect first date.


	18. Pins and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake has a specific concern that he needs to address with Schneider.

Flake's neck prickled with nervous sweat.

Schneider had fallen asleep midway through the movie, his head nestled against Flake's neck and his shoulder pressed against his arm. His arm had gotten pins and needles half an hour ago, and he wondered how badly it was going to hurt if he ever moved it again.

Initially he was irked that Schneider hadn't been as invested in the movie as he was, but that feeling was replaced by a soft happiness at being able to see Schneider's peaceful sleeping face so close to his own. So, he finished the movie (it was still one of his favorites, after all), and was now left with the predicament of what to do with the sleeping man. The rest of the house was quiet. Paul had walked through once to get some late night dinner, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows as he passed the two and saw Schneider on Flake's shoulder. Flake had given him a particularly rude gesture with his free hand, and then ignored him to watch the movie. Till and Richard, from the sound of it, had some fun and then went to bed right after. Oli hadn't been in today, but was coming over in the morning to work on some things for the band as they all played catch-up.

The ticking of the kitchen clock reminded him of how late it was. He didn't want to rouse Schneider, both because he found him terribly adorable while sleeping; but more importantly, waking him up would mean it was time for them to go to bed, a prospect that terrified Flake. 

What if Schneider wanted to sleep in his bed again? Beyond that, what if he wanted to have sex now that they were dating? How on earth could Flake explain that he was not at all ready for something like that, without insulting or hurting Schneider? Or worse, making him reconsider?

Flake rubbed his face anxiously, careful not to jostle Schneider's sleeping head.  
It had been barely three hours since he'd agreed to date Schneider, and already he was worried he'd made a mistake. What was wrong with him?

Schneider snuffled a little bit beside his ear, tickling Flake as he slowly began to wake. He felt Schneider lean more heavily against him, and Schneider's lips that were against the skin of his neck pressed into a small smile. Flake shifted slightly away, feeling an infuriating combination of anxiety and, well…

The moment he feared-- when Schneider's hand slid from beside Flake's leg up onto his thigh-- made Flake jump up as if the couch had caught fire. 

Schneider fell from his spot on Flake's shoulder and onto the couch with a thump. Startled, he jolted fully awake as he hit the couch with his face. 

"Whoah, what's wrong? You ok?" Schneider asked blearily as he reoriented himself.

Flake ducked his head and turned away, waving a hand behind him as he nervously walked to the kitchen.  
"Yes, fine, sorry; my arm lost circulation. Um, do you want some coffee?" He hastily dug out their bags of coffee beans and mugs.

Schneider squinted into the kitchen to see the clock.  
"Now? We'll never sleep if we drink coffee this late, Flake."

Flake felt nerves jangling inside him like alarm bells, causing his hands to tremble and his heart to race. He set the mugs down and clenched his hands at his sides, a familiar habit that kept his shakes hidden at the very least. He couldn't do much about his pulse, but standing physically further away from Schneider helped. Though admittedly, part of him wished he were back on the couch, perhaps letting Schneider's hand wander after all-- 

Flake beat his hip with one of his clenched hands in frustration.  
God damn his confusing, infuriating mind.

"You sure you're okay?"

Flake almost flinched again at Schneider's voice that was suddenly behind him in the kitchen.  
"Yes, fine. So, no coffee. Want tea instead? We've got a really nice lemongrass chai that I could--"

Flake did flinch this time, nearly leaping out of his own pants as he felt Schneider's hand holding onto his shoulder.

"Why are you so jumpy, Flake? What's wrong?"

Flake sighed as Schneider rubbed his shoulder gently. He needed to stop stalling. It would either be fine or it wouldn't, and he needed to get it over with.  
"Christoph, I need to tell you some things. I just have a hard time figuring out what I have to say sometimes.

Ar the serious tone of his voice, the hand on his shoulder retreated. Schneider nodded encouragingly and said, "Of course. You can tell me anything you want. 

Flake flashed him a tight smile, then looked down at the little teacups he'd grabbed.  
"I just need a minute to think. Do you want tea?"

"That would be nice. Thank you. And you can take as much time as you want."

Flake scooted off around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients and tools he needed to make tea properly. He was very particular about the teapot and tea itself that he used. He spent a lot of time (and money) getting his favorite loose leaf teas and a nice set of teacups to match the pot. Now, he had a lovely collection of teas to suit his mood, though unfortunately the collection was missing a tea type for "anxious new boyfriend getting worried about intimacy." Mint would have to do.

After prepping the teabags and setting the kettle to boil, Flake leaned back against the kitchen counter and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"What's bothering you? Do you need more time to think about this, about dating? Trust me, I don't mind at all if you do. I don't want this to feel forced or too abrupt."

"No, that's not really it," Flake began hesitantly. "I know I want a relationship. With you, that is."

Schneider held his palms up in a way that said, "but of course," and it made Flake smile slightly.  
"Then what's bothering you?"

"I d-don't know," Flake said, feeling his uncooperative tongue begin to stutter. He tried very hard to be as honest and straightforward as possible. "I th-think, I think I'm worried about intimacy."

"Is that all?" Schneider asked, seeming relieved. 

"It's enough to bother me," Flake muttered, a bit ashamed that his issues were being seen as trivial.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," Schneider reassured. "I just meant that's something I can easily help with, or at least talk to you about. Do you mean sex, or intimacy in general?"

Flake's ears burned embarassingly at the word "sex," and he wished he could stop rampaging from one extreme reaction to another without warning. He wasn't a puberty-ridden 16 year old for God's sake. Why was his body acting like one?  
"N-no, but yes in a way? I'm sorry; I'm having a horrible time speaking tonight."

"Take your time, Flake," Schneider said, his voice calm and low. It was a wonderfully soothing tone, like a soft caress against Flake's ears.

Flake grunted and tried again.  
"I don't want to rush. All I've ever done is sleep around for fun, not for intimacy. Sex is really pleasant, but I don't know what to do to take it more seriously. I'm worried if I start, I won't know what to do, or I'll decide midway I don't want to do something and hurt you and make you reconsider everything because I can't keep up or fulfill you or be good enough--"

"Flake, breathe," Schneider commanded, walking over and rubbing across Flake's shoulders. The thinner man trembled slightly as he gasped in a breath, not having realized his mouth had been going too fast for his lungs to keep up. 

"Sorry," he muttered, turning away to the stove to check the teapot.

"Don't be," Schneider insisted, moving his head down to place a tiny kiss against Flake's shoulder.  
"You're fine."

Flake seemed surprised by the action, and looked down at his shoulder, now freshly smooched. When he looked over, Schneider was just standing, smiling at him. 

"It doesn't bother you if I can't be intimate right away?" Flake asked quietly.

"No. Not even a little bit."

"You've just been so, well, active in the past, and had a fairly "colorful" sex life, and--"

"And that's the past," Schneider interrupted. "It was a very tiring, confusing way to live. It wore me out. I'm ready to slow things down if it means you being comfortable. You just have to say the words and I'll follow."

Flake searched his face, testing whether he seemed serious, then nodded. "I'll try. I can't find the right words sometimes."

"Then we'll find them together. Okay?"

Flake paused for a moment, then nodded again.  
"Okay."

Schneider let his hand slide down from Flake's shoulder to his hand, and he gently slid his fingers between Flake's to hold his hand. He looked up to make sure that was all right, and was met with a shy smile from Flake.

"Good. Now, first things first. What do you *not* feel comfortable doing? I don't want to get up at some point still half asleep and try humping you if you don't like it."

Flake chuckled nervously, immediately remembering that "eventful" morning as his chest suddenly felt hot.  
"You do have a problem keeping your dick and bodily fluids to yourself," he said, his mood lightening as he sassed his new dating partner. 

Schneider grinned, his eyes sparkling as he squeezed Flake's hand.  
"It's hard with a princess as beautiful as you."

Flake smiled broadly right back at that, swatting Schneider with his free hand, but holding Schneider's hand firmly with his other one so he couldn't pull too far away. 

"What about sleeping?" Schneider asked. "Is occasionally sleeping in the same bed something you're okay with, or would you rather not? I know we roomed together before, but I assume Paul moved in with you."

"He won't mind," Flake assured. "With Oli living with his girlfriend and Richard with Till, there's a free room here now. He'd love one all to himself."

"Are you saying you want me to room with you?"

"As long as you promise to warn me before trying to hump my ass, then yes. I'd like you to room with me. Keeping two beds if that's all right, what with the--"

Flake's clarifying statement was muted as Schneider pressed his lips in a quick peck against Flake's. The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't pull away. 

"Sorry," Schneider said right afterward. "I should have asked."

Flake blushed, but was smiling as he turned back to the stove and took the whistling teapot off the burner.  
"It's okay," he said bashfully, biting his lip and trying to calm his fluttering stomach. "I like kisses."

He stifled a giggle as Schneider slid up behind him, looping his arms around Flake's waist and pressing his forehead against the man's back. Flake poured the water into the waiting mugs.

"Peppermint?" Flake asked quietly, craning his neck to see Schneider over his shoulder. 

"Sounds perfect," Schneider murmured, nuzzling his nose against the back of Flake's neck. 

Ticklish, Flake shivered away from the man's affection and put in the teabags. Schneider let him go, and Flake was thankful. Not specifically for that, but for the lack of pressure he felt from the entire scenario. He felt more comfortable with Schneider than he ever expected.

The two took their steaming mugs back to Flake's room, and as they settled into bed together to sip their tea and talk about boundaries, Flake began to feel cautiously optimistic. Flake detailed his hesitations as best he could, and Schneider enthusiastically agreed to everything. He promised to help Flake as much as he was able as long as Flake did his best to communicate and tell him if he weren't comfortable. Perhaps this had been a good idea after all, he thought as he finished his tea and laid down next to his new partner. He sidled closer, almost cautiously, as if worried Schneider would push him away.

Schneider, who'd just gotten one of Flake's books from the bedside table and started flipping through it, smiled warmly down at Flake as the thinner man slowly slid his hands around him. 

Flake fell asleep with his head resting on Schneider's thigh, and Schneider's hand gently stroking his hair.

Yes, this had been a very good idea.


	19. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake and Schneider are relatively happy together. One big difficulty still hangs over them, though, and oblivious roommates don't make it any easier.

It had been just over 3 weeks since Flake and Schneider's tentative beginnings of a relationship. Though they'd grown closer, Flake was still a very cautious, hesitant partner. 

They slept in the same bed several nights a week now, and Schneider cherished those times deeply. Flake had become used to cuddling up when they slept together, too. It made Schneider the happiest person on the face of the earth when he was able to watch Flake's face soften as he drifted off to sleep, his head buried against Schneider's chest. The closeness invigorated his soul.

It was also spectacularly maddening. Schneider desired so badly to show Flake how much he wanted him and cared for him, and one of the strongest ways he knew was with sex. But any time he tried to move just a little bit further when they kissed, or when he tried to slide his hands just a little more down Flake's body when they hugged, Flake would back away, nervous and self-conscious. His stutter took over as he apologized, and he would either hurry away to do something else, or desperately try to change the subject.

It didn't matter what Schneider said to reassure him, or how much space he gave the skittish man to collect himself, Schneider was unable to move any further beyond light making out with him. Schneider still continued to be ever so patient and kind with him. He constantly encouraged Flake to never worry about taking his time becoming comfortable, and never to move more quickly than he felt able.

Despite this encouragement, the lack of physical affection slowly began to wear on Schneider and showed itself in the little things. When he woke up, he was *always* hard. After awhile, it become normal for him to either be compelled to get up and take care of himself in the shower, or turn away from Flake and try to go back to sleep, praying it would go away by the next time he woke. More and more though, Schneider had been awakened by vivid sex dreams that would finish with, well, him finishing. He'd been forced to start wearing boxers to bed rather than sleeping naked in an attempt to keep from constantly messing up the sheets, or having yet another "incident" involving accidentally humping Flake. 

Flake, to his credit, never talked about it or made things difficult by joking or teasing, which surprised Schneider somewhat. Flake was known for handling his troubles with sarcasm and snappy humor, but this particular issue he treated very seriously. Part of Schneider wondered whether he would have preferred Flake to crack jokes about the lack of sex. Perhaps it would have seemed less troubling and weighty then.

The problem with Flake not talking was exactly that: he didn't talk about it. He would always apologize if he stopped Schneider from moving forward, but that was the end of the discussion as soon as Schneider assured him it was fine. Anytime Schneider tried to ask what made him uncomfortable or what he could do to help, Flake would just shake his head and move on to something else.

Schneider was nearly at his wit's end with that subject, and not just because he was desperately horny and desirous to be intimate with Flake. The lack of communication was hurtful. Even an "I don't know" would have been better than the dismissive silence he got when he tried. The frustration was eating him alive, and he couldn't even seem to bring it up to his partner without feeling bad. The last thing Schneider wanted was seeming like his sole reasoning to be with Flake was for sex. That was certainly not the case, even though he was a very sexually driven man. He just wished he could express his difficulties to Flake without fear of the man being hurt or feeling pressured. Schneider had yet to think of a way to do that, so he stayed quiet about it.

But, despite all of this, Schneider was still incredibly happy with Flake. After pushing past his sexual frustration in the mornings, his days were filled with getting to know his bandmate on a deeper level, spending quality time with him, and laughing more than he thought possible. He loved the man, and every new detail he learned about Flake made his heart swell with attraction and desire. 

Now, Schneider sat at the kitchen counter, watching with both affection and amusement as his partner struggled to hold a recipe book in one hand while trying to crack an egg with the other. Flake's face wrinkled into a tight frown of concentration as he gently tapped the egg against a bowl, doing his best to crack it without breaking the egg fully. Schneider had no idea why he didn't put the book down and use both hands, but he held his tongue, waiting see what would unfold. 

The egg seemed to be particularly stubborn, and Flake stuck his tongue out a bit as he focused even more fully. He tapped the egg harder, but it still didn't crack. Schneider bit his lip to stifle a laugh as he watched frustration very clearly spreading over Flake's face. He could even hear a quiet growl bubbling up as Flake tried one last time to crack the egg. 

As Schneider expected, the egg shattered from the force of the hit, spewing both the yolk inside as well as many small bits of shell half into the bowl and half all over the kitchen counter. Schneider somehow managed to hold back a snort of laughter as Flake stared at his hand holding the dripping, crumbled remains of egg.

Flake looked over at Schneider, who was now red-faced in his valiant effort not to laugh at him. 

"Flake," Schneider said, only barely able to contain his giggles, "Why didn't you put your recipe book down to crack the egg?"

Flake stared at him for a minute, and then down at the book in his hand.  
"Well. I didn't think about it."

Schneider lost his composure at that matter-of-fact statement, despite feeling a little bad that he was now laughing uproariously at his distraught partner.

Flake's irritated expression softened into a grin as Schneider laughed. Let it not be said that Flake Lorenz couldn't laugh at his own follies every now and then.

"Shells add texture," he asserted with a smile, moving to the sink to rinse off his hand.

"I'll leave you and your "texturing" alone so you can finish breakfast," Schneider managed between chuckles.  
"Let me know if you need any help."

Flake rolled his eyes, but graciously turned his head to accept Schneider's peck against his lips before Schneider left the kitchen. 

He flopped down onto the recliner in the living room, nodding at Richard who was fiddling with one of his guitars. Life had essentially gone back to normal in the house, and they had all been somewhat lazily working on music for the next year. They would be doing another tour, but not until later that next year, leaving them a lot of free time in which to work. Richard was still the exception to the "lazy working," as he always was. The man could not do anything half-assed, especially not music. He had Emigrate to fuel his drive to create, but Richard seemed to be particularly focused on Rammstein music lately.

Richard plucked a string and listened very carefully at the note, not seeing Schneider's nod to him.

"I'm going to see what's on TV," Schneider said, informing rather than asking Richard about it. He didn't feel like getting into an argument over how much longer Richard would be practicing for. Besides, the man had his own room for music if he wanted to play, or even an entire studio. Schneider just wanted the comfortable easychair and hopefully a football on.

Richard finally looked up, registering someone else in the room.  
"What?"

"Gonna watch a game," Schneider repeated, flicking on the TV. 

"Oh. Okay."  
Richard sounded a bit let down, but before Schneider could start to feel bad for his abrupt takeover of the living room, Till swooped in. He placed his palms on Richard's cheeks and pulled his head up to kiss him firmly, releasing him with a loud smack. 

Schneider turned his head to focus on the TV. Richard and Till's affection had become less sweet and much more frustrating to him lately, for obvious reasons. He frequently chose to either ignore or even leave the room when they got particularly rambunctious. 

He pointedly turned the volume up when he heard a tell-tale grunt across the room, followed by a very obvious rumbling. Schneider did not look over. He refused to be pushed out of the living room he had just conquered. It was his TV time, fair and square.

A sharp whimper ended up catching his attention, both mentally and physically, and he glanced over. He immediately regretted it, as he saw Richard arching up into Till, whose hand was shoved far down the smaller man's pants and face was buried in Richard's neck. 

"Fuck's sake," Schneider growled, crossing his legs tightly and turning the volume up to a deafening level. They would not win this time.

Out of the corner of his eye, Schneider noted with satisfaction that Till stood up, releasing a very flustered Richard. 

"I'm sorry, Schneider," Till yelled over the sound of the TV, "are we bothering you?"

Schneider continued ignoring him, but left the volume alone. 

That was apparently not good enough for Till, who raised his voice even further.  
"I think we *were* bothering him," he continued bellowing. "Richard, do you think we were being a bother to Herr Schneider?"

Even over the noise of the television, Schneider could hear Richard's laughter.  
"You know, I think you're right," Richard's loud voice joined in. "We should be more courteous with our noise."

The two went silent after that. With a relieved sigh, Schneider finally lowered the volume, and turned to give a snarky remark at the rowdy couple about it being rightfully his turn to have the living room to himself. 

He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed thickly. Till had grabbed Richard and pulled him up against the wall, where he proceeded to choke Richard's throat with a hand, stifling his moans and whines. Till yanked at Richard's pants, pulling them down just enough to expose his briefs and grab at the front of them. They both then looked over at Schneider, who mentally cursed himself for not only not having the mental fortitude to fully ignore them, but also failing to control his own body. 

He stood up, both angry and humiliated and left for the bathroom hurriedly, attempting to hide his arousal as he went. Till and Richard laughed playfully, then ran off to their own room.

Flake stood alone in the doorway of the kitchen, having walked up to see what the row was about. He swallowed at a painful lump in his throat after the three men had left, unaware of his presence, then turned and slunk back to the kitchen. 

Schneider deserved more than him, he thought miserably.


	20. Helpful Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is in high demand for advice.

Schneider threw cold water against his face, again and again. What was wrong with him? Was he really so sexually driven that simply abstaining for a few weeks turned him into a mindless animal, instantly aroused at the sight of his bandmates making out?

The firm ache in his pants said yes. Schneider continued to splash and rub at his face in the bathroom sink, determined to halt his thoughts right there. He loved Flake. He wanted Flake. If he needed time to open up, Schneider would be patient and give it to him. If he didn't want to discuss it, Schneider would understand and not press him. He would be a *good* partner, whatever it took. Even if it meant being forced to ignore his band mates making out in his vicinity, grinding on each other and grabbing and rubbing and--

A groan slipped out before he even realized. Schneider hung his head, an overwhelming combination of frustration and desperation clouding his mind. He had to talk to Flake, even if it made him uncomfortable. As noble as his intentions were, Schneider couldn't shake his physical pulls. He *needed* to be intimate with his partner, or at the very least have Flake explain his reservations and discomfort so Schneider could help. He was going to lose his mind otherwise.

\------

Flake had abandoned cooking breakfast, and instead made his way to Paul's room once everyone had left the living room. He knocked lightly, knowing Paul was likely still asleep. 

A muffled grunt answered, and Flake opened the door. Paul's "new" room, the one that had become free once Flake and Schneider decided to room together, was pitch black. Paul reveled in the darkness, insisting he thought more creatively with the window blacked out. From his years of sharing various rooms with the man, Flake knew the reality was he just liked being able to nap whenever he pleased. 

"Paul, I need to talk to you," Flake said quietly, closing the door behind him and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Another grunt left the giant pile of blankets all over the bed. Paul had a habit of "burrowing" in bed, and Till had accused him on many occasions of "nesting" instead of sleeping like a normal person. 

"Please," Flake whispered, his eyes closing hard to keep back painful tears.

His tone made Paul emerge from his blanket cave. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with a half yawn.

"You ok?" Paul asked, his voice gravelly and sleepy, but concerned.

Flake shook his head miserably, then climbed up onto the bed next to Paul.  
"I don't think I can do this," he said, drawing his legs up under himself. 

Without needing to press, Paul knew what Flake was talking about. The poor man's self esteem was long since flushed down the toilet, and even despite Schneider's seemingly constant assertions to the contrary, Paul surmised Flake still felt overwhelmingly inadequate. 

Paul patted Flake gently on the back, wishing he knew what to say or do to reassure him. To Paul, it was obvious that Schneider found him attractive and was clearly willing to wait for Flake to ease into the relationship. Flake just needed the push to confront his own feelings.

"Have you talked to Schneider about your worries?" Paul already knew the answer, but wanted to hear Flake's reasoning.

Flake shook his head and said, "No. I already feel awful about not getting anywhere, you know… sexually. I don't want to put extra pressure on him by telling him I'm scared he'll be bored of me before I feel comfortable enough for it, let alone when we do.

Paul looked thoughtful for a moment, going over what he knew of Schneider.  
"Maybe he's thinking the same thing, that he's scared you feel pressured when you shouldn't."

"But I do feel pressured," Flake argued.

"Right, but you *shouldn't,* is what I'm saying. Schneider has told you he doesn't care about all that, yeah?"

Flake nodded slowly.

"There you go. That should be enough confirmation for you to relax about it."

Paul smiled at Flake and was about to encourage him to go for a walk to clear his head, but Flake reiterated, "But I still feel pressured."

The smaller man wanted to sigh in frustration. Flake was infuriating sometimes.  
"Well, if you absolutely can't let it go based on what he's told you already, and you don't feel comfortable telling him you're worried about him getting bored or frustrated, have you considered letting him go and be satisfied elsewhere?"

Though he didn't mean them to, Paul's words hit Flake like a slap in the face. Flake opened his mouth, whether from surprise or horror, Paul wasn't really sure.

"I-- that-- no, Paul, that's not at all--"

"Why not?" Paul pressed, an idea suddenly forming in his mind. Flake was in a rut that Paul was very familiar with. He was upset, but didn't want to bring it to Schneider's attention for fear of being seen as difficult or putting undue stress on him. This in turn caused Schneider grief, no doubt, as he could plainly see Flake's discomfort and wanting to ease it or talk about it, but to no avail. Now, Flake would either eat himself alive with guilt and worry, or something would finally tip him over the edge to get him to talk.

Paul knew exactly how to do the tipping.

"Well?" Paul pressed.

"It's just that this is such a new thing together, and I've never been in any kind of relationship where we've not been exclusive--"

"So? Would it not be fair to Schneider if you let him be satisfied elsewhere until you're comfortable?"

Flake looked trapped by Paul's reasoning. Paul hated being so manipulative, but knew Flake would simply torment himself into ending the relationship if something didn't force him to talk to Schneider about his concerns.

"Either you let him fool around elsewhere, or you talk to him and communicate about your reservations and worries. Otherwise you're being horribly unfair to the man, and he doesn't deserve that. He loves you."

Poor Flake was stricken at that, and Paul felt awful for having to push him so hard. But, he knew Flake better than anyone-- almost better than Flake knew himself. 

"You're right," Flake said, and Paul released a tense breath he'd been holding.

"Good. Now go talk to the man, or at the very least tell him he can get his dick wet elsewhere."

Flake winced at Paul's recommendation, and Paul had a strong suspicion he knew which Flake would do.

"Thanks," Flake muttered halfheartedly. "And please don't tell Schneider about any of this. It should come from me."

Paul held his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.  
"So long as you actually talk to him. Schneider loves you, and he'll be completely understanding of whatever you have to say, all right?"

Paul was confident in his assertion, but a tiny part of him wondered if it was as clear cut as he made it out to be. He hoped so.

\------

After taking a few more minutes to continue the cold water therapy, Schneider had calmed somewhat. He slicked his hair back with the water, trying to look more put-together and tidy than he felt. 

He emerged from the bathroom and nearly ran into Flake, who'd come out of Paul's room with his head down and hadn't noticed him. 

"Hey," Schneider greeted, smiling broadly at him.

Flake looked extremely nervous all of a sudden, making Schneider worried.  
"You ok, Flake?"

The skittish man only met Schneider's eyes for the briefest of seconds before darting away.  
"Yeah," he said in a rush, pulling back as Schneider tried to hug him. "I just was going for a walk."

"I'll come with you," Schneider offered, desperate not to let Flake leave him again while apparently so distressed.

"No, no, I'll go alone, t-th-thanks," Flake stammered. "I'll see you when I get back. Making beef roll for dinner."

With the tiniest, lightest kiss to Schneider's cheek, Flake ran out the door, leaving Schneider feeling hollow and empty. 

He glanced down the hallway and saw Paul peering out of his door.

Frustration simmered into anger and Schneider pointed at the shorter man.  
"You," he said accusingly. "What did he say to you?"

Schneider stalked over to Paul's doorway as Paul raised his hands innocently.

"I told him to talk to you," Paul said quickly, "I swear it."

"What did *he* say?" Schneider repeated, storming into Paul's darkened room. He snapped on the light switch in irritation.

"He asked me not to say anything," Paul said, blinking his eyes painfully at the light.

"Fucking hell, Paul," Schneider fumed, turning in an angry circle in the middle of the room. "Why are you always the one keeping secrets?"

Paul shrugged, a sad gesture.  
"I don't know. I didn't ask for the position, believe me."

"But you're always the one he goes to," Schneider continued. "It doesn't feel right."

"I know, trust me," Paul said, trying to put as much reassurance as he could into his voice. "It's just because of how long I've known him, not because of anything else, I promise. Flake does care for you, very deeply."

Schneider sighed. "It's not that. I trust him, and you of course. It's just so frustrating that he won't talk to *me.* He's run off again-- as you saw-- and I feel further away from him than ever. Please just tell me what to do to fix this, Paul. Please."

Paul felt his heart break for poor Schneider; for both of the men, really. They were such good people, but so horrendously bad at speaking to one another. They needed a push, or more accurately an earthquake to shake them up and get them to cling to one another. 

The idea Paul had before came back to his mind. He frowned for a moment, then asked, "It's mostly about the sex right now, yeah?"

Schneider's face went pink, but he nodded.  
"Lack of it. Look, I don't care if he isn't ready, I just want him to talk to me about it. I've told him that, so many times, but it doesn't seem to sink in. It's like it's in one ear and out the-- goddammit, Paul!"

Schneider interrupted himself with a yell as he noticed Paul was very focused-- not on him and his relationship woes-- but instead on his phone as he tapped out a text message. 

"Sorry, sorry," Paul said hurriedly. "Had to make sure Flake didn't run too far off."

Schneider groaned and flopped down onto the bed, burying his head in his hands.  
"I can't keep this up, Paul," Schneider said miserably. "I need a partner who talks to me, even if it's awkward."

"Trust me, I know," Paul said, hurriedly texting yet again. He hit send, though the message was not to Flake as he'd said.  
"Flake needs very, very strong pushes sometimes to force him to act."

"I'm not going to push him for sex," Schneider insisted. "Not again."

"I don't think you'll have to," Paul muttered cryptically. 

Before Schneider could ask what he meant, Paul pocketed his phone and gave Schneider a very firm stare.  
"So. You aren't having sex."

Schneider blushed again, not really liking the directness of this discussion with Paul of all people, but a hope that it would help him with Flake kept him talking.  
"Right. And he refuses to even so much as speak about it with me."

Paul steepled his fingers and set them over his mouth, thinking.  
"Have you thought about an open relationship?"

"Paul, if this is your attempt at propositioning me…"

Paul snorted out a laugh at that.  
"Good god, no. This band has enough interpersonal sexual relations already. I enjoy not being in the mix, thank you. What I meant was maybe elsewhere, or I guess even here. Till and Richard haven't exactly been subtle in their propositioning lately, and you've messed around in the past already, right?"

Schneider stood up and walked to the window, yanking open the blinds so he wouldn't have to face Paul with his furious blushing.  
"That was the past, and I wasn't exactly in a good place mentally when all that happened," he reminded. 

"But you are now. And I know from personal experience that getting some relief helps ease all the tensions and frustrations. It might give you a little breathing room with Flake."

"Are you advising me to cheat on Flake?" Schneider asked in disbelief.

"No, of course not," Paul said, shaking his head emphatically. "All I was saying is that, well… I know how Flake feels about "watching" things, is all."

Schneider paused at that, then asked suspiciously, "What do you mean?"

Paul shrugged. "To him, watching other people and enjoying yourself is about as intimate as a high-five, which is to say not at all. He doesn't see it as something significant or emotional, I guess."

The room was quiet as Schneider digested that information. After a minute he said, "It still sounds a lot like you're encouraging me to step out on my partner."

"I would *never* urge you to do something to hurt Flake," Paul reassured again. "I love him as much as you do. He's like my baby brother."

"Aren't you only two years older than him?" Schneider quipped.

Paul waved his hands in the air. "Irrelevant. I just want you two to be happy, and you're both clearly not happy right now. Just think about it, ok? I know it helps ease strain, and Flake wouldn't give two shits."

"I still feel like it's something that should be discussed with him first--"

Paul raised an eyebrow, and Schneider made the realization.  
"Ah. Right. The whole not talking thing."

"I'm not telling you what to do," Paul said, giving Schneider a comforting pat on his shoulder. "I'm just giving options for things that I've seen work before. I love you two dearly and it kills me just as much as you to see you struggle."

"I know. Thank you, Paul." Schneider offered a quick hug. "Did Flake say where he was or when he'd be back?"

Paul shook his head, a twinge of guilt creeping up as he twisted the truth slightly. "He didn't say when he'd be back but he's just out walking around the square. Don't worry, Schneider. It'll be what it'll be."

Schneider sighed. "That sounds exactly like something he'd say."

"Where do you think I picked it up from?" Paul smiled as Schneider went to leave. As Schneider opened the door, Paul whipped out his phone and sent one final text:

"I'd ask him now. Thanks, Till."


	21. Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till and Richard invite Schneider for some fun.

Schneider closed Paul's door behind him as he left, his mind still repeating Paul's "suggestion" again and again.

It still sounded like cheating to Schneider. He'd grown up with strict morals in relationships, where "fooling around" of any kind was seen as wrong, and he had a hard time picturing Flake being okay with it despite Paul's assurances. While he did trust Paul to a certain extent, he also knew the asshole-streak that ran through the man like a river, so he took everything Paul claimed with a grain of salt.

However, what Paul said about not wanting to see either of them hurt was true, Schneider knew that. That's why the situation was now so blurry and unclear for him. As he said, Paul wouldn't have suggested anything he thought would be damaging.

Then why did it feel so wrong to think about?

All of these thoughts crashed around Schneider's mind as walked down the hallway back to the living room. Just before he rounded the corner, a throat cleared behind him. Schneider turned to see Till poking his head out of he and Richard's room. 

"You got a second?" Till asked, smiling out at him. 

As much as Schneider wanted to say no and focus on his own issues, he really didn't have much left to sit and stress over that he hadn't already stressed over. 

"Sure," he said, shrugging and walking back down the hallway to Till's room. 

He walked inside and saw Richard in bed, shirtless and half under some blankets while watching something on TV. Richard smiled and gave him a little wave which Schneider returned meekly. 

"Make yourself comfortable," Till said, tossing some clothes off the bed to make room for Schneider to sit. 

"Am I going to be here that long?" Schneider asked, opting instead to sit on an armchair near the bed. He wasn't sure how long it had been since the pair had last washed their bedspread judging by the dirty clothes strewn over it. 

God, he was starting to sound like Flake. The thought made Schneider smile.

"Well, that's up to you how long you stay," Till said.

Schneider frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Till smiled even wider as he flopped down onto the bed next to Richard.  
"We'd like you to have sex with us," Till said simply. 

On reflex alone Schneider felt himself stiffen. Luckily he'd already crossed his legs, so his anatomy didn't automatically betray him.   
"I don't think that's such a good idea--" Schneider began, but Richard interrupted him.

"Don't worry. Till and I have talked this kind of thing over plenty. Anything you're comfortable with, we're comfortable with. We just need a little spice now and then, y'know?"

Richard winked at him, and Schneider swallowed.   
"That's not quite what I meant."

Till waved a hand. "If you mean Flake, he doesn't find either of us attractive, and also doesn't care about this kind of thing. Obviously we're not pressuring you," Till soothed. "We just wanted you to know we're interested."

"And it's strictly for fun," Richard added. "We're very respectful of boundaries. We'd not have asked otherwise."

Schneider was running out of mental excuses.

Flake wouldn't care.  
Richard and Till would enjoy it.  
He would also enjoy it.  
It might even help him know what to do with Flake by having a clear head that wasn't completely clouded by sex.

Richard suddenly pushed Till back flat onto the bed and straddled him, grabbing a fistful of Till's shirt and pulling the bigger man up slightly to meet his hungry lips. Till's hands flew to Richard's hips and grabbed firmly, and he rumbled low as he began to move Richard against him. After a moment, the two broke the kiss and stared at each other, then both turned to look at Schneider. 

Schneider was frozen in his chair, legs still crossed tightly together as he blatantly stared. 

"It's up to you," Richard purred, leaning down to run his tongue up Till's neck. 

Till grunted at the feeling, then added with a smirk at Schneider, "You know where the door is if you'd rather not."

Schneider's mind had made itself up by the time Till reached up to suck at Richard's neck.  
"I'll just watch," he grunted out as he hurriedly unbuttoned his pants. 

Both men on the bed smiled approvingly at this, then went right back to one another. 

As hot as it was to see them together, Schneider immediately found his mind wandering as he began to touch himself. Instead of seeing Till and Richard making out and grinding atop one another on the bed, he began to picture himself laying back with Flake sitting up on him instead. As Richard groaned and threw his head back, Schneider thought what it might look like if Flake did likewise, moaning and gasping in pleasure. 

When Till flipped Richard over, Schneider imagined himself holding Flake by the hips, hauling him up to hit his own hips with a snap. Bodies meeting, skin rubbing, sweat mingling, everything he pictured translated to what it would be like between he and Flake rather than Till and Richard before him. It was so easy to imagine; so vivid and real. Schneider stroked himself hard, barely even still in the real world at this point.

As Till fucked Richard, Schneider eventually found himself closing his eyes, succumbing fully to his fantasies rather than spectating. It wasn't a conscious decision, either; it just happened, slowly, like a rolling in of fog during a warm night. His strokes became quicker as he listened to his friends breathless and caught up in the pleasure, but he pictured himself with his partner, culminating in the brightest moment of clarity Schneider had ever felt:

"Flake."

He gasped the name as he came, the realization of what he truly wanted crashing over him simultaneously. He finished with a strong shudder, blearily opening his eyes to see an amused couple staring back at him. Schneider blushed furiously when he realized Till was still buried inside Richard, and neither had finished. 

"A bit pent up, were you?" Till teased, giving Richard's ass a hefty smack. "That was quick."

"I guess," Schneider whispered in embarrassment, buttoning himself back up and avoiding their gazes in shame.

The two on the bed paused their playful sex and turned to Schneider in concern. He didn't sound just embarrassed about finishing too quickly. 

"You okay?" Richard asked, moving to face him. Till slipped out of him with a short grunt, a bit disappointed, but wanting to be sure Schneider was comfortable as well. 

"I don't know," Schneider said morosely. He didn't feel better at all, and he might actually be feeling worse than before.   
"I think Paul was talking out of his ass."

"Paul?" both Till and Richard asked at the same time.

Schneider frowned. "You spoke to him too?"

"He's the one who suggested you might like to join us," Richard said. 

Till chimed in, "He texted me and said you needed a pick me up, and asked if we could try to include you today."

Schneider felt his stifling guilt, depression, and uncertainty immediately turn to anger.  
"That manipulative son of a bitch," he growled, readjusting his jeans and standing up in a hurry.

"Schneider, wait," Till said, struggling to put his pants back on as Richard did likewise. "I think he was just trying to help."

Schneider ignored them and flung open their door, fully intending to march into Paul's room and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing--

The front door burst open right as Schneider walked past it. A very winded-looking Flake stood breathing heavily in the doorway, as if he'd just been running somewhere.

The two looked at each other for a long, tense moment, neither saying anything. Flake then glanced past him and into the hallway where Till and Richard stood in their own doorway, half-clothed and wide-eyed. 

Flake winced and swallowed heavily at the sight of them, and Schneider opened his mouth to try and somehow explain everything, but Flake beat him to it.

"We need to talk, Schneider."


	22. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is too much to be discussed, but it seems Flake finally has the courage to speak up.

As Flake trudged down the hallway to their room, Schneider suddenly reached for his hand to hold. Flake flinched, surprised at the touch, but when Schneider simply held his hand, gently but refusing to let go, Flake gave a small smile.

Flake led him into the bedroom, and Schneider felt his gut twist painfully in apprehension as Flake turned and closed the door. 

"Look, Flake," he began, but Flake squeezed Schneider's hand and shook his head.

"If I don't say what I need to say now, I might lose the nerve, so please just listen."

Schneider nodded and immediately closed his mouth. 

Flake swallowed and took Schneider's other hand solemnly.  
"I've not been communicating like I should," Flake began, his grip tightening, "and I'm sorry. I'd like to blame it on a sense of doing what's best for you, but it's just cowardice, and that's not acceptable. I thought you deserved to not be bothered, but I realized you deserve honesty, even if it's difficult."

He took a deep breath, and a heavy, cold feeling settled in Schneider's abdomen. Flake was going to end things, call off what little relationship they had. He was about to leave him.

"Flake, please," Schneider whispered, squeezing the other man's hands desperately. "I should have asked you; I'm so sorry. All I did was watch, and even then I kept thinking of us instead of them, and, I shouldn't have, and…"

Schneider's voice trailed off as he realized Flake wasn't interrupting him like he thought he would. Instead, the man was just looking at him, his eyes a clouded blue behind his glasses.

A half smile played at the side of Flake's mouth, and the man had a very relieved look about him now.  
"I don't give a shit about you watching other people," he said, letting one of his hands go and instead moving to rub Schneider's arm. Schneider felt the trembling in Flake's hand as he did so, and was confused at the gesture as Flake kept talking. 

"I actually thought you'd slept with them," he admitted. "It's kind of why I came home in a rush. I realized I didn't want to lose you."

The look Flake gave him was crushing. A world of sadness was etched all across his face. Schneider wanted to hug him tightly, assure him it would never happen and that he'd been afraid of the same thing. But Flake continued talking, and Schneider continued to hold his tongue as he'd been asked.

"I've been so paranoid that you wouldn't want to wait for me, you know-- to be ready for more intimate things. It's not really fair to ask you to keep waiting for however long that might be, but at the same time, I realized it's also not fair for me to make all those decisions alone. You don't just deserve someone eager to be with you, but also honesty and communication. I'm so sorry I haven't been giving you either like I should have. Can you forgive me?"

It took Schneider a moment to process everything Flake was telling him, especially the fact that Flake wasn't breaking up with him, but he eventually nodded.

"Of course, Flake," he said, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Flake allowed it, returning the hug and burying his face in Schneider's neck.

"I just want you to be happy," he said, his voice muffled against Schneider's skin.

"And that's all I want for you, Flake," Schneider said, turning and kissing Flake's windblown hair. "I just need you to to tell me when you aren't happy. I'll never berate you or think less of you for it, all right? We just need to talk."

The thinner man nodded against him, still holding him tightly in a hug. 

Schneider gently tugged at him, pulling him so they could sit down on the bed to continue the discussion. Flake followed without hesitation.  
"So, just to make sure I'm understanding," Schneider said, "you didn't want to talk to me because you thought it would be a bother? And specifically about the sex, because you don't feel it's fair to make me wait until you're ready?"

Flake squirmed on the bed, but Schneider held the man's hands firmly to keep him put.  
"It sounds a lot sillier when you say it," Flake mumbled.

Schneider smiled softly at the anxious man and stroked his thumb over his partner's hand as he held it.   
"That's because it *is* silly, and that's not me berating you. I'm just being honest. Never worry about bothering me with your emotions or fears. Like you said, we both deserve honesty with one another, right? We're here to help each other, not hide problems."

Flake nodded. "You're right, of course. My brain has a way of convincing me otherwise sometimes."

"I think we all have those doubtful moments," Schneider assured. "We just have to trust that our partners and friends can handle the truth, regardless of what we think."

Schneider turned to face Flake more fully and brought one of his hands up and kissed it.  
"So," he began, "let's talk and figure out how we can *both* help you feel comfortable. What is it about being intimate that scares you, or makes you concerned about it?"

Flake immediately ducked his head and blushed, but he didn't pull away. Schneider decided that was a good start.

"I, well…" he released one of Schneider's hands to awkwardly scratch at his arm. "I think a big part of it is how close everyone is."

"You mean as friends?"

"No, like, proximity. It always feels like everyone is so tightly packed in this house and constantly tripping over each other." Flake chuckled ruefully. "You might have noticed, but I'm a bit shy to give any affection when everyone is watching."

Schneider grinned at that. "Yes, I do believe I've seen that. It seems a bit ironic considering you're so shameless all other times."

Flake shrugged and said, "It's a very different thing for me to be naked around friends versus showing intimate affection around those same people. Does that bother you?"

"No," Schneider assured. "Not at all. I just forget sometimes, like I'm sure you've seen. Does it make you uncomfortable when that happens?"

"A little, but that's something I can easily get over. I just don't want to be constantly teased about it."

"Well, that sort of comes with the territory," Schneider said wryly. "If you recall, we gave Richard and Till plenty of shit when they started dating as well."

Flake groaned. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Schneider leaned in and placed a tiny kiss on the end of Flake's nose, who hmphed but didn't protest the affection.   
"I can tell them to fuck off, don't worry. Is that the main thing, then? You don't feel we have enough privacy?"

"That's certainly a big part of it," Flake agreed. "I suppose if they were all gone and the worry of them returning wasn't there, I could see myself feeling a little more at ease."

The gears in Schneider's head turned as he began to formulate an idea.  
"What if we went away for a night?" he suggested. "Not really to have sex, but just to be alone together. No pressure whatsoever. We could rent a hotel room, or better yet, an entire little apartment or something and have some quality time together, without worrying about the rest of them."

The idea seemed to surprise Flake at first, as if it hadn't occurred to him before that it was a possibility.   
"That... might help," he said slowly, nodding a bit. "I think a break from the chaos here would be nice, at least."

Schneider pulled Flake into a hug, tucking the man's head under his chin and pressing him to his chest.  
"Just think: a whole evening away, only us, and we can even grab food on the way over so we won't have to cook; we can sleep in late, without Till stomping around like an elephant early in the morning to take a piss, or Paul yelling about who moved his guitar and Richard yelling back that it wasn't him…"

Flake snorted against his chest in laughter, and the sound warmed Schneider's heart. 

"It's settled, then," Schneider said. "We'll find an Air BnB and spend a relaxing night together, alone."

"That sounds incredibly nice," Flake said, smiling up at Schneider.

\---

In a little less than three hours, the pair found themselves walking inside a beautiful apartment they'd managed to rent for that night in Prenzlauer Berg. Flake had been awed as they walked along cobblestones raised from a Koi pond that led to the back door. Potted plants and creeping ivy covered the wall up to the apartment. Schneider had to stifle a gasp of his own as they walked inside. It seemed the favors he'd called in, along with the shameless throwing around of the words "Rammstein band members," had really paid off.

The flat was a sprawling, spacious modern apartment with stunningly beautiful furnishings. A giant flatscreen hung along almost the entirety of the living room wall with a plush, oversized sofa across from it. Directly next to the sofa on one end was also a crackling fireplace; though it was quite hot outside, the fireplace was electric, providing only the inviting atmosphere of a warm fire rather than the heat. Upstairs lay the master bedroom and bathroom, and both Flake and Schneider fawned over the beauty of each. The bathroom was sparkling white walled with a huge slate gray tub that looked like a spa, giving it a stunning modern look. Rose petals were scattered across the already-drawn and steaming bath, earning Schneider a questioning look from Flake. 

"I may or may not have asked for a "romantic" package," Schneider admitted sheepishly. 

The theme continued in the bedroom, with additional rose petals scattered across the huge bed, and a bottle of extremely expensive champagne in a bucket of ice beside the bed. 

Flake raised an eyebrow at that, but Schneider just shrugged. "I didn't ask for alcohol," he insisted. "But I'm also not upset it's there. Are you?"

Flake did not disagree, and instead slid his hand shyly around Schneider's waist and squeezed, happily pulling his partner close as they continued to explore the flat. They deposited their food in the kitchen, already looking forward to their dinner. They'd both wanted seafood, oddly enough, but been unable to decide between lobster and oysters.

"Lobster is so much more delicious than oysters," Flake had protested. "I can't understand why you prefer--"

His eyes had suddenly narrowed in realization. "They're an aphrodisiac," he accused, poking Schneider in the chest. 

He had laughed at that, legitimately not having thought of that correlation.   
"Flake, I need zero help feeling attracted to you," he assured, pulling Flake in and smooching his cheek briefly despite Flake sputtering a light protest.

"Let's just get both," the embarrassed man had said, hurriedly paying for the platter but smiling despite the awkwardness.

Once they'd made another lap of the flat and sipped a bit on the champagne-- just to taste, as Schneider clarified since they'd not yet had dinner-- they went back upstairs. The master bedroom upstairs also had a connecting balcony, which Flake and Schneider strolled out on just as the sun set. The fiery, golden and reddened rays cast extended shadows across the city, warming the landscape and eventually giving way to the lengthening shadows.

As the pair watched the last of the dying light fade away, Flake leaned his head against Schneider's shoulder, sighing blissfully with his arm still wrapped firmly around Schneider's waist.

Schneider couldn't think of a more beautiful moment.


	23. The Perfect Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider has a beautiful revelation

The evening passed like a dream. Flake and Schneider had eaten their shellfish dinner lazily on the couch, with Flake rolling his eyes as Schneider tried to "sexily" slurp his oysters but ending up choking on one instead.

"Too much lemon juice," Schneider had croaked out as he fell to the floor off the couch, reaching a dramatically trembling hand at Flake for assistance while he coughed and gasped for air. Flake swatted at his hand playfully and laughed, but eventually gave in and grabbed his partner's hand to help him back up on the couch. Schneider had rewarded his efforts with a very sloppy kiss that tasted entirely of citrus and seafood.

"I told you lobster was better," Flake snickered as he scooted away from Schneider's hands trying to playfully grab at him. 

Their goofy, flirty banter had followed them through dinner and back up to the bedroom where they poured a bit more champagne. Schneider had stopped Flake after one glass, however, much to Flake's dismay.

"I want us both to enjoy this vacation," Schneider had said, gently taking away Flake's empty champagne flute. "And I want us to remember it. Let's save getting drunk for another time."

Flake had become slightly anxious at that, and Schneider realized he wanted to use the alcohol as a crutch to ease his nerves. While Schneider sympathized, he remained firm. 

"We'll drink the rest later," he promised, pressing a soft kiss against Flake's jaw instead, hoping to distract him from his nerves.

To Schneider's surprise, the first kiss had quickly devolved into a flurry of brief kisses from Flake, who seemed to be trying to muscle through his nerves. It was terribly cute, and it seemed Flake was a bit out of practice as he awkwardly smacked across Schneider's face. Schneider welcomed it, though, just as eager to be Flake's training partner if that's what he desired. 

Once Flake had calmed his onslaught of kisses, Schneider noticed he seemed rather puzzled. It was as if Flake didn't know what to do next. Schneider was fairly sure he'd been with a man before, so it wasn't that. He was being as gentle with Flake as if he were made of glass; and had been allowing Flake to do all the moving, which made him feel confident Flake wasn't bashful due to lack of control. Perhaps he needed some guidance. Schneider was certainly capable of that.

He leaned his head slowly into another kiss, and tried to slide his hand softly around the back of Flake's neck in a gentle, familiar move. Flake ducked abruptly, sliding out of Schneider's hand and away from his kiss. He stuttered an apology and drew away, suddenly trying to slide away and off the bed.

"Flake, stop."

Schneider grabbed Flake's hand and held him in place, lightly but insistently. Flake looked almost terrified, and the worry in his eyes broke Schneider's heart. He still didn't understand what had made Flake so afraid to be intimate. They were completely alone, so it wasn't a privacy concern. 

A surge of protectiveness and an overwhelming desire to set Flake at ease filled Schneider, no matter what it took. He reached for Flake's cheek and gently turned his face to look him in the eye. 

Flake's eyes darted around, attempting to settle anywhere but on Schneider's, but he held his face steady until Flake relented. 

"What's wrong?" Schneider asked quietly, letting his thumb rub against Flake's cheek comfortingly. He wanted more than anything for Flake to just enjoy himself as Schneider knew he hadn't in a very long time. At the moment it seemed like a monumental task. 

Flake swallowed, and Schneider felt him begin to tremble under his hand. 

"It's okay," he soothed, lowering his hand to Flakes shoulder and squeezing. "If you're uncomfortable, we can stop. This is supposed to be fun, relaxing. If it's not relaxing anymore, let's stop."

Flake winced and shook his head, and Schneider felt pained that the man seemed unable to articulate himself properly. 

"Just talk to me, Flake; I can't guess what's in your head. I'm not that good."

At that, Flake smiled ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.  
"I don't-- I don't like my b-body," he said quietly. 

Schneider simply waited, allowing him to continue to gather his thoughts at his own pace. Schneider continued to rub his fingers along Flake's shoulder to soothe the tension he felt in it.

"I hate everything about myself. I always have. I hate my height, I hate my weight, I hate the fact that I l-l-look like an alien, or a goddamn "prison camp survivor," like I used to be called. I hate all of me, everything. And everyone always ends up ag-g-greeing with me."

Schneider winced at Flake's bitter, choppy words. He knew they came from a place of deep hurt, and he desperately wished he could erase it from existence. Schneider knew he couldn't, but he knew he *could* soothe and begin to help rebuild Flake's broken views about himself. 

Schneider moved both his hands to Flake's face, and ensured Flake was looking into his eyes before he spoke again. He said, slowly and confidently to make sure Flake understood, whether he wanted to or not:  
"Flake, you're perfect. Anyone who says otherwise is both certifiably insane, and missing out."

As Flake shook his head and tried to pull away in embarrassment, Schneider held him firmly in place.   
"I mean it. You can disagree all you want, but in this one instance, you're wrong. You're beautiful."

Flake's deep blue eyes started brimming with tears and his chin trembled. Schneider pulled Flake to him, pressing his head into his chest and enveloping Flake in his arms. He felt bitter tears dripping onto him, and silent sobs shaking Flake's shoulders. Schneider held him tightly, and put his head against him. He had no words, and he knew Flake didn't need them. He just needed to be close; to be told through Schneider's actions that he was wanted, treasured.

After a few minutes, Flake had stopped crying, and his breathing had evened. Schneider continued to hold him anyway until his trembling had also quieted. 

Flake finally pulled back slightly from the embrace and sniffed, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve.   
"I feel gross without a handkerchief," he mumbled, only half-jokingly.

"Here," Schneider said, leaning back and stripping his shirt off abruptly. "Use this. I needed to wash it anyway."

A muffled noise slipped past Flake's lips, his eyes darting from Schneider's face to his chest and back again. Schneider chuckled at his expression and took it upon himself to carefully wipe Flake's tear-stained face with his shirt.

"Thanks, but no, that's-- that's fine," Flake protested, twisting away from the shirt's reach. "I don't need your sweat stink all over my face."

Schneider noted with some amusement that Flake resorted to sass and deflection when he was flustered. He decided to capitalize on that knowledge.

"What about sweat stink all over the rest of you?"  
Schneider gave an evil grin as he began unbuttoning Flake's shirt. Flake sucked in air sharply when he felt Schneider's hands against his skin, but he didn't stop him. Schneider felt encouraged that he'd made the correct move. Once his shirt was discarded, Schneider began stroking Flake's chest as he leaned in for another kiss that eventually led downward.

"Just tell me the second you don't feel comfortable," Schneider murmured, "and we'll stop."

Flake leaned back as Schneider rubbed him, putting his weight back onto his hands that propped his torso up from the bed slightly. Schneider sensed he didn't want to lay down just yet, for whatever reason. That was fine.

Schneider pressed his lips against every inch of skin he could roam his mouth over, along his angled, sporadically-freckled shoulders, down his sinewy arms, across his lean, pale-skinned chest, and spending extra time going up and down Flake's soft waist. Flake hissed and flinched when he lightly grazed his teeth over the man's jutting hip bones, but Schneider didn't relent. He kissed them even more, relishing the feel of Flake's shaky breaths in and out, the shuddering of his skin as goosebumps formed where he ever so gently nipped and licked. He pulled him closer each time that Flake shied away, insisting through his actions that Flake should stay, but never tightening so much that Flake couldn't actually break away if he needed to.

The noise Flake made when Schneider moved his lips across the man's abdomen, just under the hem of his pants was heavenly. Flake's breathing thickened, and Schneider could feel his heart beating faster under the hand he had resting on Flake's chest. He turned his eyes up, and smiled as he saw a very red-faced Flake cautiously staring down at him. 

"Relax," Schneider cooed, placing another tiny kiss against his taut belly.

Flake shivered as he whispered, "Okay."

Schneider chuckled and saw the man remained just as stiff as before.   
"Here," Schneider offered. "Lay back. You're going to cramp up your arms if you stay propped up like this."

He gently pressed against Flake's chest to lay him on the bed, hoping laying down would calm him. Flake hesitated, then eased back, allowing Schneider to set him flat down against the pillows.

"There you go. Now just *relax,*" Schneider breathed the word down Flake's torso, pleased to feel a trail of shudders follow downward. 

The moment he got back to the hem of Flake's pants with his mouth, Flake stiffened again, arching his back to move his hips aside. Schneider sighed, not from irritation but from puzzlement. He was unsure how to ease Flake into this.

As soon as he pulled his face away from Flake's lower abdomen, he saw Flake's tension ease. Perhaps he just wasn't ready to be explored down there yet. 

Schneider moved back up Flake's body and lay down gently beside him, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders and chest. He'd trapped his arms, and Flake wiggled for a few moments before grunting unhappily.

"I can't move," he chastised, looking over at Schneider's face that was happily snuggled into his side.

"That's okay," Schneider assured. "You don't need to."

Flake humphed, but stopped struggling. When he stopped, Schneider withdrew the arm across his chest and began lightly tracing the outlines of various bones and muscles on his front. Flake shivered occasionally, a bit ticklish at the soft touches. 

"I meant what I said about not doing anything if you're uncomfortable," Schneider said.

He felt Flake swallow hard.  
"I j-just don't know what to do," he said quietly, sounding rather ashamed of himself. 

"You don't have to *do* anything," Schneider said pointedly. "I just want you to enjoy yourself. It makes me happy to see you happy."

Flake frowned and took in a deep breath, one that Schneider could feel held a tremble.

"What are you afraid of, Flake?" Schneider pressed with a gentle tone, resting his hand over Flake's heart. It thudded rapidly under his touch.

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

Flake's straightforward answer was so quiet now that Schneider barely heard him. He slid his arm out from under Flake's shoulders and propped himself up on an elbow to gaze down at the man. Flake swallowed again and looked away, as if concerned. He was like a frightened, trapped little rabbit, and Schneider hated seeing it.

Instead of answering Flake's fear right away, Schneider just leaned down and pressed a kiss to Flake's forehead. He held it longer than he normally would, then sat back.

Flake's cheeks had become pink again from the kiss, and his blue eyes darted up to Schneider's nervously.

"I don't care," Schneider said softly. "I couldn't give two shits how good or bad in bed you are."

At Flake's stunned face, Schneider chuckled.  
"Sorry. I'm not sure how else to phrase that without being rude. It sounds backward, but I get turned on from giving *you* pleasure. I don't much care what you do to me. Sex is nice, sure; reciprocation is fine and all, but right now, for you and me: all I want is to make you feel comfortable, wanted, and happy. That's all. And none of that comes from you "doing" anything."

Flake's forehead creased into a thoughtful look.  
"It doesn't make much sense. Don't you want me to, you know…"  
He made a vague gesture down at Schneider's crotch.

Schneider laughed at Flake's awkward questioning, which made Flake narrow his eyes at him. Schneider kissed the man's disgruntled forehead again which made Flake roll his eyes; but Schneider saw the briefest of smiles tug at Flake's mouth.

"I don't need anything from you except your happiness and comfort," Schneider reiterated, pulling Flake's chin up gently to meet his eyes.

Flake made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, but he looked Schneider in the eyes.

"It feels weird," Flake admitted when Schneider released his chin.

"Maybe because you've not had someone love you properly before," Schneider said, snuggling back into Flake's side.

Flake was quiet for a few minutes, and Schneider contented himself with listening to the man's heartbeat and breaths through his chest. He was overjoyed to simply be alone and close to him, and would be just as happy to spend the night right where he was, if that's what Flake wanted.

Schneider flinched when Flake cleared his throat to talk suddenly, as it echoed like thunder in his ear.  
"Christoph?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I'm quite ready for, well--"

"Fucking?" Schneider offered with a smirk. "Don't worry. I just want to be close to you is all, like I said. We don't need to fuck."

Flake groaned and said, "Yes, fucking, if you're going to be crude about it. But…"

Schneider felt tentative fingers caressing his head, and his heart warmed at the touch. He leaned his head into Flake's soft rubbing.

"Go on," Schneider encouraged, not moving his head from Flake's chest. "What would you like? What would make you happy?"

"I, um, I just want touching, at least a little. I don't know, not sex, but something--"

"Do you want a handjob?" Schneider interrupted eagerly, thrilled that Flake was comfortable enough to ask for something.

"No, no, that's too one-sided, and I don't want all your focus on just pleasing me."

"I already told you I can't help that," Schneider said, giving Flake's chest a quick peck.

Flake squirmed at the kiss and lightly tapped Schneider's head in disapproval.  
"That's not what I mean. It's more like--"

"Do you want to give *me* a handjob?"

"No, for God's sake, just shut up and let me speak please," Flake blurted in irritation. 

Schneider smiled, but lay quietly to let Flake finish.

With a frustrated sigh, Flake continued, "I don't want to be the only one being "pleasured," I suppose. But I also don't feel comfortable enough to do all that myself either. Could we just…"

Flake awkwardly scrambled for words again, and Schneider gave him time to think without interruption. It was cute how the normally verbose man became hesitant and short of words when he was pleasantly flustered. He watched, amused, as Flake's face began to blush, the reddish color creeping down his neck and mottling his chest as he gathered himself to speak.  
"Could we maybe just, rub together?" 

Schneider rolled himself on top of Flake suddenly, causing him to sputter in surprise. He moved quickly so Flake didn't have time to feel ashamed of his request. Schneider straddled his legs on either side of Flake's hips and pushed his weight politely off of Flake's chest and held himself up on his forearms. He was now staring lovingly down at a very rosy-faced Flake.

"We can do anything you like," Schneider reassured. He leaned down and softly kissed Flake's lips, pleased when he felt him returning the kiss shyly a few moments after. Schneider deepened it, slowly, and let his tongue gradually explore and venture. He felt a pleased huff from Flake's nose, which encouraged Schneider to continue. 

He pulled back from the kiss to dip his head and kiss under Flake's jaw. The thinner man shivered, but didn't tense up, so Schneider continued, determined to figure out the borders of Flake's comfort so he could stay well within them. 

As he inched his mouth down along Flake's breastbone, the stiffness returned to his body. Schneider mentally noted that Flake didn't seem to like when his head strayed much below his chest, and he relaxed as soon as Schneider brought himself back up to kiss his lips. Flake sighed, seemingly in relief.

"You want me to stay up here?" Schneider murmured, nuzzling on his cheek.

Flake nodded, and Schneider hummed in response.   
"I can do that. Do you want your pants on or off?"

"I can take them off," Flake offered, awkwardly shifting away from under Schneider.

Schneider worried that Flake was about to pull away again, but was pleasantly suprised to see he was actually unzipping his pants. Schneider eagerly took in his handsome, hunter green patterned boxers with a very prominent bulge at the front. 

Flake finished pulling off the pants and gave a quick, nervous smile up at him.   
"I don't know why I'm so anxious," Flake said as he slid his way back under Schneider's body and between his legs. "Believe it or not, I *have* had sex before."

Stifling a chuckle at Flake's attempt to wiggle back under him, Schneider readjusted his stance and reached for his own belt.

"Getting undressed is a little more intense when it's done this close together, especially when you've not had sex together yet and you're interested in it," he quipped, making Flake snort. Schneider paused his undressing as he started to unbutton his jeans.

"Is this okay?" he asked, double checking if he wanted Schneider stripped as well.

Flake bit his lip and nodded quickly, earning another pleased chuckle from Schneider. Flake was indeed eager; he just had strong boundaries, and Schneider respected them. 

"I didn't wear any underwear today," Schneider mentioned, about to finish unzipping. "You sure that's fine?"

Flake grinned, and Schneider saw a rare glimpse of what Flake was like unfettered and happy. He loved it, and decided to pursue that side of Flake until he was just as happy all the time.

"It's okay," Flake said in the middle of a somewhat nervous chuckle. "No underwear is cool."

Schneider grinned at his terminology and kissed him again, then leaned back and kicked his pants off. He wasn't fully hard, but had a comfortable amount of stiffness to show off once his jeans had been tossed aside. 

Flake's eyes were drawn instantly to his crotch, and Schneider had to laugh at his intense look.  
"Flake, it's just my dick. I swear you must have seen it plenty of times by now."

"This is the first time I'm looking purposefully," Flake said quietly, alternating between looking down in fascination and up eagerly at Schneider's face. Schneider felt himself melt at the sparkle he saw in Flake's eyes.

"Do you want to keep your boxers on?" Schneider asked, rubbing a hand along Flake's chest. He couldn't get enough of him, and felt such a strong pull to constantly be touching his smooth skin.

Flake hesitated, then gave a slow shake of his head.   
"I'll take them off," he said, and again scooted a bit away to maneuver the boxers off. Schneider watched with strong appreciation as Flake's dick sprung free.

Flake must have seen the wildly aroused look in Schneider's face. He'd seen Flake naked many times as well, but this was the first he was able to see his dick fully stiffened and on display, and it was because of *him.* Schneider wanted more than anything to shove Flake back hard onto the bed and go to work on him, but he knew he'd need to wait for Flake to be ready.

Flake kept his head down bashfully as he scooted back down into his earlier position beneath Schneider. Once he seemed comfortable, Schneider lowered his hips to gently sit on Flake, settling in a way that pressed his erection next to Flake's. He released a long, slow breath at the sensation; an odd, hot feeling as he moved his hips side to side experimentally. Schneider hummed as their foreskins slid against each other.

Flake seemed very pleased by his movements, and Schneider got an idea.  
"Have you ever done any kind of frotting?"

Schneider would have laughed at Flake's expression if he weren't worried Flake might take it the wrong way. It was a comical mix of arousal and confusion. 

"What?" was all Flake managed to ask.

Schneider leaned forward and kissed him again, pleased at how nicely Flake's cock fit beside his own, and how deliciously they rubbed together while trapped between their two bodies. Flake was longer, but Schneider slotted against him like he was made for it.

"Like this," Schneider said, reaching a hand down in between them to grip them both together. He looked at Flake's face to be sure this was okay.  
"Is this good?"

Flake shuddered with pleasure as Schneider began to slowly, ever so slowly grind against him while gripping both their dicks together, the friction giving off a wonderfully tight feeling.

"Yes," Flake breathed, trying to push himself back up onto his elbows. "It's good."

Schneider gently held his other hand against one of Flake's shoulders as he shook his head.  
"Relax. Let me do the work, okay?"

"I j-just--"

Schneider let his body become heavy and leaned forward again to silence Flake's worries with a kiss. It took only two seconds for Flake's body to ease its tension and stay laying back contentedly as he returned the kiss. 

Schneider moved his mouth across Flake's face, and then breathed a happy moan into his ear, sending shivers down his slight body. He continued to slowly rock his hips, letting his erection rub firmly against Flake's. He was yet again amazed at the size of his new partner. God may not have gifted Flake an overall hulking or imposing body figure; but he had more than made up for any lack of body mass by giving Flake the longest dick and biggest balls Schneider had ever seen. 

He enjoyed reminding Flake of that fact on a regular basis, but for now, he couldn't seem to find the words to express it. Just seeing himself rubbing against the man he desired, and seeing the pleasure so evident on Flake's face as well, it was overpowering.

Schneider sped up slightly, thrusting into his hand and against Flake. His change in speed elicited a small moan from the man beneath him, who moved his hands hesitantly to Schneider's tight thighs on either side of his own legs. 

"Flake," Schneider breathed between moans, thrilled that the man was feeling comfortable enough to touch him. "You're so fucking hot. You feel so good against my cock."  
Schneider watched in satisfaction as the man's breathing deepened, ending in a combination of short moans and huffs. His dirty talk, though it was an unplanned bubbling over of arousal, seemed to push Flake into a higher tier of pleasure as well.

Invigorated by both the physical stimulation as well as seeing Flake slowly unravel from the pleasure, Schneider put his back into his thrusts a bit more, leaning more heavily into the jerking of his hips without crushing Flake unnecessarily.

After a few minutes, Schneider lost himself to the feeling of his hand and both his and Flake's cocks grinding together. A little growl rose up in Schneider's throat and he had to force himself to slow down. He wanted to last just a bit longer.

Schneider collected himself, and then looked down to assess Flake's state of being. The smaller man's chest was heaving beneath him, flushed and hot, and his eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure. He gulped in deep breaths, and tried to even out his breathing when he realized Schneider had slowed down.

When Schneider readjusted his grip on the two of them, Flake stiffened and bit hard at his lip as he tried to twist away. He had a pained look on his face that confused Schneider.

"What's wrong?" Schneider asked, his voice husky and deep from heightened arousal. "Does it hurt? Do you need some lube, a glass of water? Anything?"

Flake shook his head, but didn't answer further.

"What's wrong?" Schneider asked again. He paused his movements to give Flake a chance to breathe.

"I just-- it's very-- it's a really strong um, strong feeling," Flake stammered between heaving breaths. 

"Overstimulated?"

"I d-don't know."

The answer suddenly struck Schneider. He'd been the exact same way when he first started having sex. In a strange way, it made him feel privileged that he would get to help Flake through a similar scenario. 

"It feels like you're being choked by pleasure, doesn't it?" Schneider asked.

Flake nodded slowly, gazing up at him with a wary look, as if suspicious how Schneider knew as much.

"And it feels like a tightness in your abdomen that almost hurts, but not quite."

"Y-y-yes," Flake stuttered. Schneider felt saddened that he was apparently getting anxious again, but he knew how to help. He would make sure Flake felt as euphoric as he deserved to feel.

"It's a buildup, but anxiousness builds with it too, right?"

"How do you know that?" Flake asked timidly.

"I had the same thing happen," Schneider explained. "And I know how to help."

"What is it? I don't want to feel anxious."

"Your brain is fighting your body. Your body wants to let go, to finish and do what it's being stimulated to do. Your brain says no. It wants to stay alert and cautious, because you feel uncomfortable. I had the issue with worrying about not being able to finish when I wanted to. I'd get so paranoid that I almost couldn't finish at all sometimes because of how badly in my own head I was."

"How did you fix yourself?"

Schneider leaned in and kissed Flake's forehead gently.  
"It wasn't a fix, because I wasn't broken, and neither are you. You just have to tell your brain it's okay to let go, to be vulnerable."

Schneider smiled warmly.  
"You just have to trust me to take care of you. Do you trust me?"

Flake looked at him initially with apprehension, but a determined look of resolution slowly began to cover his face. He blinked once, and then nodded firmly.  
"Yes."

Schneider was proud of him.

"Just lay back, then, and do everything you can to quiet your head. Don't think of anything: not me, not you, not emotions, nothing. Just try to keep thoughts away."

Flake looked positively befuddled.

"I know, it sounds weird, but I promise it helps. Your first instinct will be to ask yourself a million questions about what you're feeling, what I'm thinking, whatever. Just try to hit "mute" on your thoughts. Eventually, the pleasure will overwhelm everything, even you trying to stay blank. That's where you want to get. Once you get there…"

Schneider leaned back and make an explosion noise with his mouth and used his hands to mime his head exploding.

Flake snorted out a laugh at that, and the pure, happy sound put butterflies in Schneider's stomach.

"I'll try," Flake said, snickering. Schneider grinned back in response, then hopped off the bed and grabbed a bottle from his backpack he'd set beside the bed.

"Glad I came prepared," he said as he hopped back onto the bed, squirting the lube into his hand and applying it to himself. "I'm going to use a bit of lube just to help it feel especially good for you. You're not allergic or anything, right?"

Flake shook his head, the smile still in place on his face.

"Good. Now just relax, and try not to think of anything at all."

Schneider eased his hips back down onto Flake's, situating their bodies so that they aligned back into their perfect spots. As soon as his hand gripped Flake to press them together, Flake inhaled sharply.

"Relax, don't think," Schneider said quietly, rocking his hips and settling into a smooth, easy motion. 

Flake nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. On a whim, Schneider reached forward with his free hand and gently removed Flake's glasses. Flake made a puzzled noise as he set them carefully on the little bedside table.

"Easier to focus with nothing on your face," Schneider explained. "Now stop thinking. Just let yourself go."

Within a few minutes, Schneider had worked both himself and Flake back up to a very heightened state. Flake was panting, his hands tangled in the blanket underneath them and his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. His hips jerked up occasionally when Schneider thrust against him particularly hard.

Schneider was busy coordinating his thrusts, grip, and giving a continual stream of encouraging words designed to keep Flake at ease and help him finish. It seemed to be working perfectly.

"God, Flake, yes; you feel so perfect. Just relax, yes."  
Schneider's murmurs of praise and encouragement melted into the insistent pushing of his hips down into Flake's, pressing tightly against him in his hold. Schneider felt his own breath hitch at the sight of Flake's suddenly tightening abdomen as he felt the thickening of his cock. Elation flooded Schneider's mind when he realized Flake was very nearly about to finish. 

Thrusting down firmly into his hand and gripping himself desperately against Flake's dick, he began moving his hand as well, providing further stimulation in between his hip movements. Flake stiffened even more with a short jerk, and Schneider bucked his hips down with a few final hard thrusts.

"Just let go, Flake," Schneider moaned down to him.   
"I've got you."

Flake's eyes suddenly opened in what looked like suprise, and fixed themselves up on Schneider as he gasped in a short breath. His eyes were so much brighter without his glasses blocking them. As Flake's eyebrows wrinkled and his face tightened slightly, all Schneider could see was beauty. Pure, unadulterated, perfect beauty. 

Flake's thin lips parted as his back arched; his long, slender fingers gripped the blanket beneath them with one hand while his other hand tightened along Schneider's arm; his taut stomach and abdomen clenched in rhythm with little uncontrollable shudders that traveled up his body; trails of wet warmth suddenly hit Schneider's chest and streamed down his hand; and Flake's voice made high pitched gasps that were both shy and euphoric. He tried to duck his head bashfully to the side as he came, but the pleasure was forcing him to expose himself fully.

Seeing Flake attempt to keep himself under control, trying to stay the calm and collected man that he always strived to be; but finally choosing to let himself go and trust Schneider with such intimacy-- it was perfect.

Flake was truly beautiful. 

A hand moved from Schneider's arm and weakly grasped the air along his side, a small flailing motion as Flake reached for him amidst his euphoria. Schneider immediately entwined his fingers with Flake's, squeezing them tightly while desperately pressing kisses to his mouth as the man finished his orgasm. Schneider wanted-- no, he *needed* him. He needed to feel Flake's involuntarily bucking hips, his pulsing shudders, the crashing waves he rode, feel the sharp hitches of breath through the kiss and the writhing of his body: Schneider wanted to be part of every last bit of it.

For years, Schneider had been trying to force non-fitting pieces into his clumsily assembled life puzzle, just for the sake of completion and wholeness. Flake was the piece that had been missing. He slid into that empty slot with an overwhelming sense of perfection.

Schneider was overtaken with a sense of unwavering certainty-- they were made for each other. And it was at that exact moment, as cliche as it sounded, that Schneider knew he wanted to be with the quirky, goofy, adorable, beautiful man forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone <3
> 
> At the risk of sounding a little pompous, I'm really, really, REALLY proud of this chapter. It's been in the works for literally months, as I started writing it back probably around March. I've been slowly perfecting it since then, crafting the story around it almost, and working the characters to reach this point. 
> 
> This isn't the end, of course, but to me it feels like the highest point so far. I'm so thrilled to finally be able to post it for you all, and I wanted to say yet again a big thank you to everyone who's stuck it out with me and the boys this far. 
> 
> I adore writing, but it's even better when I get to write for people just as passionate about the story as me <3 I love all of you, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on my "baby" chapter xD 
> 
> I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing it, though that's a bit hard to reach since I LOVED writing it lol.


	24. Worry and Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house is concerned when they can't find Flake or Schneider, and neither are answering their phones.

Till wearily put his car in park and walked back up to the band's flat as the sun set. He'd not found Flake at the stables like he expected, nor had he seen him anywhere around town at his usual spots, and Till was beginning to actually worry.

He trudged into the apartment and was immediately rushed by Richard, who had already been worrying enough for ten people.

"Did you find him?" Richard asked. "I walked around the square and didn't see either of them."

After a quick kiss to Richard's cheek, more to comfort himself than show affection, Till shook his head. He walked into the living room.

"They didn't come back here, of course," Paul added when they stepped inside and sat down heavily on the couch. Paul was in Flake's normal spot on the recliner with a magazine in hand.

"I was at the studio and didn't see them," Oli said, having arrived earlier with plans to talk about their next album. They had shelved those talks after realizing Schneider and Flake weren't there.

"I'm telling you, I think they're perfectly fine," Paul said for the 10th time. "I guarantee they're just out talking like they've needed to for weeks."

"But what if you're wrong?" Richard lamented. "What if your little "plan" drove them away, or worse, they broke up! What if it's our fault and they're out doing god knows what and being miserable because--"

"Maybe they just wanted to get away from all this," Oli interrupted making a large gesture at them all. "Schneider told me awhile back he wished he felt comfortable enough to take Flake on a romantic getaway, but he didn't think Flake would want to do it."

Richard was unconvinced, and began babbling about how guilty he felt, sure that they'd broken up and were now both lost and drinking themselves to death or a bunch of other dismal outcomes.

Till was just tired and concerned. He got very quiet when he felt that way, and it was eating at him how Flake in particular hadn't contacted him. He didn't share Richard's same concerns about the two, but it did bother him that the normally very predictable Flake wasn't where he expected him to be, and that he'd not messaged or called. It was extremely unlike him, and a growing unease made Till wonder what could have happened. 

As curious as they'd been, Richard, Till, and Paul had all hidden in their rooms after seeing Flake and Schneider retreat to theirs. Flake had such serious concern on his face that even Richard who wanted to help explain everything was deterred from interfering.

The only notice they'd gotten that the two weren't in the house anymore was the slamming door an hour later, but when they'd gone to see, it was Oli walking in. Richard had knocked on their door and received no answer. When he cracked it open to ask if they wanted lunch, the room was empty. They had then proceeded to bombard both Schneider and Flake's phones to no avail. Till had expected them to be at the stables, or Flake at least if the talk had gone sour, but they weren't.

"Well it isn't helping anything by freaking out," Till interrupted Richard's ramblings with an irritated tone. "Just shut up and calm down."

Richard stopped his worried rant and looked hurt at Till's snapping. Till sighed, then said, "Sorry, scholle. I'm worried too. I really thought Flake would be with his horse."

"You'll all see," Paul said again. "They probably ran off to get married once they realized they can talk to each other without exploding."

"Schneider can talk just fine," Oli added. "He's texted me quite a bit about things since the two started-- wait, are they dating? I don't think he ever specifically said."

They all quieted as they tried to remember if either man had actually mentioned it. 

"They never said anything to me, at least," Richard said.

"Me either," Till added. 

Paul scratched his head thoughtfully. "Flake mentioned a movie they watched together once was a "date," but that's all I ever heard about it. Well, about them "dating." Flake's talked my ear off plenty about issues he has, but it was always the same thing, and never what they were as a couple."

Another round of silence followed before Oli spoke up.  
"Whatever they are, if they went away together, I think it's probably a really good thing for them. They needed time alone."

Quiet noises of agreement, though some still doubtful, filled the living room. Richard absently rubbed a hand across Till's thigh while Till laid his head heavily against Richard's shoulder. The guitarist heaved a sigh.  
"I hope they're okay."

\---

Flake's head was both clogged up and spinning; he didn't know how that was even possible. He panted heavily, his heartbeat thundering deafeningly in his ears. He felt dizzy and mildly disoriented, and so very, very warm.

An attempt to speak only resulted in a breathless gasp, and Flake felt his face smothered by a heavy, equally breathless kiss from Schneider, who still pressed and rubbed his hips down against him even after Flake had finished. He squirmed and writhed weakly against Schneider, who finally pulled back from the kiss and stilled his body atop Flake.

"God…" Flake managed finally, the first words he'd spoken in what felt like ages. "Incredible."

"Don't need a god when I'm with you," Schneider muttered, sliding his hands under Flake's back and pressing his face down against his neck. He nuzzled his nose along Flake's throat, savoring the intimacy.

Flake shook his head with a rapidly spreading grin.  
"You're terrible," he said quietly, "but thank you. It really was incredible." He reached a hand to gently stroke against Schneider's hair. The arrangement of Schneider against him felt perfect and natural, and though he knew it was due in part to the hormones his brain released after orgasm, he felt a creeping comfort that was more than just body chemistry. 

"Don't thank me," Schneider insisted. "It's all but expected for a prince to treat his princess. You're welcome regardless."

Flake groaned loudly at the running joke and batted Schneider's head in disapproval. Schneider just snickered and squeezed him tightly.

"You know," Flake said, musing as he went back to petting Schneider, "You're the first man I've had in this position."

Schneider turned his head up to face Flake. "Oh? You mean frotting?"

"No, just laying on me. Believe it or not, every woman I've ever had sex with would crawl up and do the same thing you're doing. I used to say I had a magnetic chest."

"Or maybe you just like them on top," Schneider suggested with a smile. "Never had a man like this?"

With his head on Flake's chest, Schneider was able to clearly hear the short grunt his partner made when he was slightly flustered at a question. It was adorable.  
"N-no, never a man. I've only been with three, and we didn't really have sex. Women were a lot easier to come by, I guess."

"Tell me about it," Schneider purred, snuggling himself happily into Flake's chest further. "If you want to, that is."

Flake chuckled, a little nervously.  
"You don't mind hearing about ex lovers?"

"I don't mind at all. I never really paid much attention to your love life before, so I'm curious."

A snort, then Flake clarified, "To be honest, it really wasn't a "love" life so much as just sex, and most of it was a really long time ago. Are you sure you want to know? You won't get jealous?"

"Not unless you're still dating any of them."

"Certainly not."

"Then go right ahead. I want to know about you: all of you, whatever that includes."  
Schneider nuzzled his head into Flake's pale, randomly freckled chest, making Flake laugh gently from the tickling.

"Well, let's see… what exactly do you want to know?" Flake asked.

Schneider hummed a thoughtful noise and said, "When did you lose your virginity, and how?"

As expected, Flake released a brief, bashful giggle at the old memory, and the sound made Schneider's stomach flutter happily.

"It was so long ago," Flake mused, running his slim fingers absently through Schneider's hair that was beginning to grow out again. "Do you mean my actual virginity or first sexual experience?"

"Both," Schneider said. "All of it. You know my sexual history pretty well, I'd say. I want to learn yours."

"You certainly weren't shy about sharing it," Flake agreed. "Let's see. My very first sexual experience was right after Feeling B formed. A girl kissed me and let me touch her boobs, but only over her shirt."

"Bra?"

"Nope."

Schneider grinned. "Very nice."

"It was, but I was so scared I'd cum in my pants when she started rubbing my crotch. Luckily I didn't because she got bored pretty quickly and left."

"Not bad for a first experience," Schneider enthused. "And your virginity?"

"I sort of begged another girl for sex," Flake said, tugging at his earlobe awkwardly. "She was nice enough to say yes, so we had sex on an old blanket at Hiddensee after a concert."

"Somehow that's exactly what I expected your first time to be like," Schneider said with a chuckle.

"It was good because I had sex. It was terrible because of the sand, the bugs, not knowing what I was doing, finishing too quickly, and so on."

Schneider nodded soberly. "The first is usually the worst, I've noticed. It only gets better from there."

"You're not kidding," Flake agreed. "Practice makes, well-- not perfect, but better, at least." He readjusted his position to reach for the champagne they'd left on the bedside table.  
"Does his majesty mind if I drink now?"

Schneider gave a snort at Flake's heavy sarcasm, then sat up and gave a mocking bow.  
"As you wish, madame."

Flake took a heavy swallow straight from the bottle as he ignored Schneider's bad joke, then nearly choked as he started laughing at something else.

"What?" Schneider asked.

Flake composed himself, then said, "I just remembered I've not said a word to anyone about where we went. Did you?"

"No, I completely forgot."

Flake snickered again. "We left after a fairly intense talk. I have a feeling everyone is concerned, and it serves them right. Payback for when Till and Richard made us leave that night and stay out until 3am."

Schneider smiled at that. "You're right. Still, now that you've brought it up, we should at least check and see how badly they're concerned."

Flake waved his hand non-committally and threw back another decent swig from the champagne, so Schneider took it upon himself to check messages. 

About 5 missed calls and a dozen messages; of course. He sighed as he scrolled through, then smiled as he saw most were from Richard. He seemed to be the most sensitive out of them all, always trying to make sure everyone was in a good state of mind and getting along. While Flake at times was the mother of the group, ensuring everyone was fed and on time, Richard was more the group cheerleader and emotional support. It was very touching. 

With that in mind, Schneider surreptitiously texted him, assuring him that he and Flake were perfectly fine. After a moment's thought, he also added in that they'd be gone one more day, though he'd not yet told Flake as much since he just decided on it. 

Schneider wanted this closeness between them to last, and figured giving him another day to spend quality alone time together would be a great foundation for it. The flat was gorgeous, and Schneider knew they had a lot of ground to cover if they were to enjoy all of it.

"All right, hand it over," Schneider said after tossing his phone into the bedside drawer. "I'll be damned if I let you drink that expensive bottle by yourself."


	25. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out Flake and Schneider are indeed fine, Till sinks into a weird mood.

As Schneider and Flake proceeded to get drunk on champagne and compare ridiculous sex stories from their youth until they passed out, the rest of the band had just gotten Schneider's mass text.

Everyone grabbed their phones simultaneously, and upon reading that the couple was safe and happy, relieved sighs filled the living room. 

"I *told* you," Paul said triumphantly, beaming at being right. "They're fine, just busy defiling some hotel."

Richard grumbled but was still very pleased that everyone was okay. 

Oli kicked one of his feet absently as he asked, "So, what now? If we aren't practicing or talking shop, I mean."

"We could watch a movie," Richard suggested. "Have a few drinks and just relax together. It's been awhile."

"I did tell my girlfriend I'd be here late," Oli said thoughtfully. 

"It's settled, then," Paul declared, jumping up from the recliner and grabbing his laptop. "What are we in the mood for?

"Comedy," said Richard.

"Action," said Oli.

"Horror," said Till.

Paul paused after booting up his laptop, as all three had spoken at the same time.  
"Um, how about a mix of all three?" he suggested. "Cabin in the Woods is a goofy horror parody with plenty of action and jump scares. Sound good?"

Till shrugged, while Oli nodded and Richard grinned happily.  
"I love that one," Richard said eagerly, snuggling in close to Till as Paul hooked up his laptop to their TV. Till, in return, just patted his back before throwing his arm up over the couch behind Richard. 

Richard glanced over, slightly puzzled. Till usually was the one to pull him in closer when they watched anything. Maybe it was too warm for him in the living room. Richard scooted away slightly to give him some air, but Till didn't react; he just kept staring stoically at the television. Richard frowned, but chalked it up to Till being tired from running around trying to find Flake and Schneider. 

As they watched the movie, the mood in the room lightened dramatically. They guffawed and poked fun of the satirical movie and even had a few good scares in the first hour or so. It was nice to feel the camaraderie after the previous tension and worry.

Till, however, continued to sit morosely, refusing to engage with the film more than a grunt instead of a laugh every now and then. Richard became slightly concerned, and leaned himself against his boyfriend. Till didn't move or acknowledge him, and simply continued to watch the movie, stone-faced and grim. 

When Richard tried to comfortingly slide his hand along Till's arm, Till suddenly got up from the couch.

"I need to piss," he said flatly, and then left the room. 

"Want us to pause?" Paul hollered after him. 

"Nein," came the gruff reply down the hall. 

Everyone turned to look at Richard.  
"What? I have no idea what his deal is; don't look at me," he huffed, crossing his arms. 

They heard a door slam that wasn't the distinctively creaky bathroom door. Richard sighed, then stood up.  
"Fine, I'll go check on him. You don't have to pause it," he reassured Paul. "I'll try to make it quick. I love this movie…"

With that mournful statement, Richard went after his partner. As he assumed, the door to their bedroom had been closed-- or rather, slammed shut. He knocked lightly at it, though it was his room too and he didn't need to. 

Till didn't answer, so Richard opened the door. He walked in to find Till pawing through their bedside table and grabbing their bottle of lube. He looked up, his brow heavy and jaw set firmly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Richard asked in confusion.

"Composing a fucking symphony. The hell does it look like I'm doing?"

Till's eyes flicked up and down Richard for a moment before he gestured at him. "I'd greatly prefer to fuck you instead of my hand though."

Though Richard felt an automatic flush at the thought, he frowned. Till was acting strangely, as he seemed to do when he was avoiding thinking or talking about something. Richard was about to open his mouth to protest, but Till was quicker. He tossed the lube onto the bed and stalked up to Richard, yanking him close and kissing him hungrily. 

Richard melted into the kiss, his body quick to respond in kind. They'd not finished earlier after being interrupted by Schneider's previous sadness about Flake, having instead been distracted and concerned for the couple. Richard was pleased to continue the mood from before, before he remembered he was supposed to figure out what Till was avoiding.

"Hey, hold on," Richard said as he pulled back from the kiss and pushed Till back. He was having to work very hard not to just let him take what he wanted. It was difficult when you were equally as horny. 

Till paused and stared at him, obedient, if a bit disgruntled at being stopped.  
"Why?"

Richard frowned again. "You know good and well why. What's bothering you?"

Till looked like he wanted to argue the point, but quickly decided against it. That was good, Richard thought. He was learning bit by bit, and getting better about outright denying his feelings entirely.  
"I feel really uncomfortable and anxious," he said in a rushed tone. 

"Why do you think you feel like that?" Richard asked gently.

Till bit the inside of his cheek, which made Richard somewhat concerned. Till only did that when he was especially anxious or upset.  
"I don't know for sure. Can I please fuck you? It will make me feel better."

Richard shook his head, though his dick still gave a weak throb at the thought of it. An idea suddenly occurred to him.  
"Tell you what. We talk about what bothering you, and afterward we can have sex."

"I'm not a child," Till spat. "I don't need placations or rewards."

Richard shrugged, ignoring his partner's sudden anger. He knew it was a self-defense mechanism. Till must truly be upset over whatever was eating at him.  
"Okay, no sex then."

Till's jaw hardened again, and Richard could see that was not at all what he'd wanted to hear.

"Look, Till, we've done so well communicating lately, and I know something's really getting at you. Please talk to me. I just want to help."

Richard's pleading voice and sincere gaze made Till soften slightly. His eyes stayed dark, but his tone became less harsh as he answered, "I don't really know, like I said. I just don't feel well. My gut hurts and my back is tight."

"Panic attack?" Richard asked worriedly.

Till shook his head. "It's not like that. It's different and I don't like it. I just want it to go away."

Richard felt a pang of sympathy as he saw his partner's struggle.  
"Would punishment help?"

Till's jaw flexed and he shook his head again. "No. And I'm not saying that to be bratty; I mean it. I just want to fuck you."

A guilty feeling nudged into Richard's mind as he began to ignore warnings from his rational side. He really should insist that they get to the bottom of Till's struggles, but…

He took a deep breath in resolution, then said, "All right, just as long as we can have a proper talk afterward. Okay?"

Till's eyes flashed.  
"Yes."

He stalked up to Richard, forcing him back against the wall and planting his hands on either side of his partner's head.  
"I'm going to be rough," Till growled, eyeing Richard carefully.

"I like rough," Richard responded with a smirk.

Somehow, Till's eyes seemed to darken even further. He always had strangely colored eyes that seemed to fluctuate in color, but Richard had never seen them this black before.

Till leaned in further. "I'm going to be *very* rough," he clarified, his voice falling even deeper.

Richard swallowed, and though he wasn't afraid because he trusted Till implicitly, he did have a moment of hesitation. Till rarely topped these days, and even more rarely wanted anything rougher than light bondage. Richard wasn't sure why it had changed suddenly, and that's really what gave him mild trepidation about this whole scenario.

Regardless, Richard just nodded again. "I like very rough too. And I have my safe word."

With that, Till grabbed him and threw him onto the bed in one large motion. Richard only barely made it atop the bed without falling off onto the bedside table. He was about to say something about being careful, because the lamp on it was expensive, but Till halted his statement. The bigger man had yanked his own pants down in one swift motion after throwing Richard to the bed, then took him and flipped him over, dragging him to where he was bent over the bed now, legs hanging off.

Richard tried to look back, eager and wanting to see Till's lust-clouded face, but Till denied him. He grabbed a fistful of Richard's dark hair and forced his head down into the bedcovers, stifling him.

His sweatpants were yanked down just enough to expose his backside to Till's satisfaction. Till grasped at his ass cheek, hard, digging his fingers in the soft skin. Richard whined into the bed, prompting Till to grip even harder. 

Till's cock suddenly pressed against him, hot and firm. Richard swallowed expectantly, waiting for Till to lube up. He didn't expect much in the way of preparation, based on the impatient look he'd seen earlier in his partner's eyes, but he certainly didn't expect Till to grab his hips and try to shove himself in completely dry. Richard choked and grabbed at the bedspread, writhing away slightly, but Till held him firmly in place as he continued, forcing himself inside bit by bit-- a difficult task.

Stinging overtook him first, lancing pain up into Richard's body, and then it switched to a painful burn the more that invaded him. He cried out, the bed muffling him as Till finally pushed himself fully inside his partner. The bigger man growled loudly and then snarled as he grabbed at Richard's back. He clawed him and rutted into him harshly. Till still had a hand tangled in Richard's hair, yanking and pushing in rhythm with his aggressive thrusts.

Richard's gasps of pain became frantically higher pitched, fluctuating in volume as his head first pressed into the bed and then jerked back from Till's sharp pulls in his hair. It hurt, so badly-- the pulled hair, the burning inside, the clawing fingernails across his back, and as Till's breakneck pace sped even further, the sharp scratching of nails turned to a hefty arm looped around Richard's neck to cut off his breathing. It forced him to be silent as Till roared and then latched his teeth into Richard's shoulder. He didn't need to look to know by the sharp, flashing pain that Till was breaking skin and smearing blood across him from the possesive, ravenous bite, refusing to let go.

So much pain, too much, too much, he couldn't endure it anymore, just couldn't--

And then, Richard crested a peak he had no idea he'd been climbing. As his vision went blurry from lack of oxygen, the various pains that raced around his body jumbled themselves up into something he'd never felt before, pulling seemingly his entire being inside himself tightly, and then exploding outward as Till released his arm from his throat. 

Richard's face dropped to the bed, his mind absolutely overwhelmed and unable to autonomously move his body. Pulse after pulse, wave after wave, it all blasted through his dim consciousness like an avalanche, making Till's own finish a distant, barely recognized event. 

Eternities passed, or so it seemed. Richard's mouth felt like it had been stuffed with wool, dry and scratchy from screams he forgot he'd made. His body twitched with aftershocks, and the small amount of lingering pain was the only thing that alerted him to Till pulling free of his body. 

"Fuck…" Till said quietly, and Richard immediately began to sober when he heard the pain in Till's voice. He tried to sit up, but the room still spun a bit and he had to wait a few seconds. 

"Fuck, Richard…" Till said again, and Richard heard the very distinct, but very unusual sound of Till choked up with tears. He managed to turn his head, and saw Till standing behind him, trembling violently. Tears streamed down the big man's face, and he looked both horrified and guilt ridden beyond belief. Richard tried to say something, but his mouth was taking a long time to reconnect to his brain.

"Why didn't you use your safe word?" Till whispered, his breath catching.

Richard was finally able to move a little, and looked down at himself in confusion.

He was a mess. His shoulder was bruised dark purple with bloody teeth marks along it where Till had broken skin. His shirt was ripped, exposing the angry red scratches from Till's fingernails criss-crossing his back. Richard swallowed, and felt bruising across his neck as well where Till had choked him. There were even smears of rust-colored blood across his backside, another indication of Till's forced entry. 

Till had remnants of blood on his mouth, fingers, hands, and even crotch. He looked as guilt-ridden and horror-struck as someone who'd just committed a murder; maybe even more so.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Till said, his voice barely audible. He just stood, shaking like a leaf being buffeted by the wind.

"Till," Richard finally managed, trying to protest the man's unnecessary apologies. 

Till did not listen. "I should have stopped, should have listened to you, should have just talked like you told me to." His voice rose as his internal chaos rose as well. "I hurt you, I'm so, so sorry, Richard, please, so sorry--"

"I'm fine," Richard insisted, gathering the strength to push up from the bed on wobbly arms. 

"You're not fine. I hurt you, fuck, just look at you!"

Richard swallowed again, the pain in his throat already lessening, and the rest of it blurred into what felt almost like a comfortable ache. Maybe that feeling was from his orgasm. It was hard to tell at this point.

"Till, I promise. I… I liked it."

Till's jaw that had previously been trembling tightened at that. "Don't," he warned. "Don't try to convince me of that."

"I'm not--"

"You can't look at yourself and tell me you you *liked* that," Till said through gritted teeth. It looked like he was fighting back more tears. 

With a grunt, Richard hauled himself up from the bed. He was unsteady at first but he staggered to his feet and slowly turned around.

Till's fearful, guilty eyes raked up and down Richard's body in concern, then froze as they made it to the front of his partner's sweatpants. 

Richard had been so turned on from the kink he didn't even know he had, that not only had he thoroughly soaked the crotch of his pants, but his dick was *still* hard after the fact, and occasionally twitched in the very obvious tent his erection created.

Till looked dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open silently.

Richard suddenly felt amusement bubbling up inside him for some strange reason. The situation didn't seem funny, but he couldn't stop the giggle that started and turned into full-on laughter. He walked to Till with his arms outstretched, beckoning. Till accepted the hug dumbly as Richard laughed and held him tightly.

Once his random fit of amusement passed, Richard pressed his face into Till's chest as he mumbled, "I love you, you big goof."

Till took in a shaky breath, then let himself melt into Richard's arms. "You're sure you're not hurt badly?" he murmured into Richard's hair.

"I promise," Richard said, placing a kiss against Till's heart.

A moment passed, then Till whispered, "I love you too," 

The two stood, the relief filling them both mentally and physically. Talking would still follow, but Richard and Till took the next few minutes and simply appreciated one another's touch.


	26. Wakeup Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake takes advantage of Schneider sleeping in

Flake woke with a mild pain behind his eyes, thanks to the empty bottle of champagne on the bedside table he now glared at.

After a brief massage of his closed eyeballs, easing the pain somewhat, Flake lazily took in his surroundings. It was a bit difficult without his glasses, and he squinted to reacquaint himself with the room. Soft sunlight poured in through the huge windows that made up almost an entire wall, with the balcony laying just past the sliding glass doors. He nodded to himself as he remembered the beautiful bathroom at the end of the bedroom, and the insistent pressure in his bladder informed him he'd need to make use of it soon. He rolled over, and then blinked in surprise. 

Schneider was laying beside him on his back, one arm thrown up over his face and the other stretched out onto Flake's pillow. His chest rose and fell with steady, sleeping breaths, and he had apparently kicked off the blanket that Flake was still tightly wrapped in. Schneider was also quite naked, Flake noted, and most importantly, was sporting the single most impressive boner Flake could ever recall seeing.

A flush spread across Flake's cheeks and nose as he remembered the evening before, both the pleasure as well as the sudden realization that Schneider hadn't gotten off-- choosing instead to put all of his focus on Flake. It had been incredible, of course, but Flake now felt terribly guilty that the pleasure hadn't been returned to him before the two fell asleep.

Flake cautiously unwrapped his hand from the blankets and stretched it out to Schneider's sleeping body. He just wanted to touch, just a little bit, he reasoned with himself. He wouldn't defile the man in his sleep; merely touch, just for the sake of his own curiosity. After all, Schneider had all but encouraged him to give him a handjob last night, even though Flake didn't take him up on the offer then. He also recalled many stories Schneider had shared in the past about pleasantly waking up to his girlfriends doing likewise in his sleep, and that he always loved when it happened. He'd even humped Flake in his sleep and cum on his ass, for god's sake.

With all of that in mind, Flake slowly let just the backs of his fingers brush against Schneider's hard-on. It was warm, of course, and he could see the small throbs of pumping blood maintaining the erection. It fascinated Flake, and he ran the backsides of his fingers along the smooth length. Though Schneider didn't remove all the hair across his groin like Flake did, he seemed to trim and take great care of his pubic area, resulting in a handsome, arguably beautiful view in the morning sun. 

Flake felt his own dick stiffen slightly as he moved his fingers to gently touch further. Soft caresses from the backs of his fingers changed to purposeful strokes with the fronts, and he savored the feel of every bulging vein and fold of skin along Schneider's length. He committed the feel and sight to memory, intrigued beyond comprehension at the man's beauty in his eyes. With a little pressure from his fingertips, Flake moved the man's soft foreskin slightly, evoking a gentle grunt from a still-sleeping Schneider. Emboldened, Flake did so again, more firmly this time, and was met with a small roll of Schneider's hips. The obvious arousal for Schneider was captivating Flake, and he felt heat radiating across his face and pumping down south, much more vigorously now. He didn't need to worry about Schneider's attention being all on him, as the man wasn't even conscious. He didn't feel judged, or pressured, or nervous. It was just Flake.

And it was so hot.

Without bothering to deliberate further, Flake formed a fist around Schneider's cock, sliding the man's foreskin up as he would if he were masturbating. Schneider grunted again, moving his pelvis slightly to the left. Flake began to pleasure the man, slowly but determinedly, and though Schneider was still out cold, his body eagerly responded. Flake felt the twitches from his partner's cock when his fingers brushed the head, and the firm throbs when he pulled back down. Every so often, Schneider's hips gave a small, uncoordinated buck to answer Flake's movements. Flake watched with rapt attention as Schneider's breathing thickened in correlation with the speed of his hand. 

An almost childish sense of excitement built up in Flake's mind, as if he were doing something terribly naughty and could be caught at any moment. Though he supposed Schneider likely would not be upset, the thrill still enveloped him as he tried to steady his movements to keep Schneider asleep. Flake had to hold a pleased noise of his own back, worried it might be too loud accidentally. 

Schneider's heavy breaths turned into light pants, and Flake felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears from the secondhand excitement. He was so focused on moving his hand properly and being quiet that he didn't realize whatsoever that Schneider was close. It wasn't until he *saw* the man finish, streaming out onto Flake's hand and the bed, that Flake suddenly remembered: Schneider had actually woken up the last time something like this happened, right as he came in his sleep.

Flake's head snapped to face Schneider at that realization, and he froze in horror when he saw the pale blue, still-sleepy and half-lidded eyes of his partner staring at him. 

"What a good morning this is," Schneider murmured, a smirk playing at the side of his mouth.

Flake dropped Schneider's softening dick as if it had burned him, yanking his hand back up under the blanket wrapped around himself protectively. He tried to apologize, but his stutter grabbed his tongue and refused to let him go.

Schneider chuckled, his voice deep and somewhat rough as he finished waking up.  
"Relax, Flake. I couldn't have "hand"-picked a better wakeup call."

He rolled on his side to face Flake, then reached his arms out to grab the blanket-enveloped man and pull him close.  
"Morning, my princess," Schneider purred as he nuzzled against the soft ball of sputtering boyfriend he'd captured.

"Y-you don't m-m-mind?" Flake whispered hoarsely, crushed tightly against Schneider's chest.

"Nuh uh. I won't *ever* mind an orgasm-alarm clock," he assured, looking up into Flake's wary eyes. He leaned up and tried to kiss him, but the angle he held Flake in didn't allow him to reach far enough. He puckered his lips and made an insisting noise, to which Flake finally softened with a smile. He closed the distance to Schneider's lips and gave him a gentle peck. Schneider tasted like morning breath-- a rather unpleasant combination of stale seafood and champagne, and Flake grunted in slight displeasure as he wrinkled his nose.

"Oh I see," Schneider teased, "you can jack me off but won't let me kiss you afterward. Rude."

As Flake huffed indignantly, Schneider rolled across the bed with him still tightly held in his arms, bringing him along for the ride.  
"Joking, Flake," he said, hushing him. 

The two had come to rest on the far left side of the bed, with Flake resting in his blanket cocoon atop Schneider, who lay on his back staring up lovingly at Flake.

Schneider paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and shuffled his hips slightly as he smirked.  
"I see I'm not the only one excited this morning. Want me to blow you?"

The speed with which Flake went from his normally pale tone to bright red was astounding, and Schneider nearly laughed at him. 

After a moment of composing himself, Flake finally spoke. "I… I haven't showered," he stammered. "I've got cum on my dick from last night still."

This finally broke Schneider, and he laughed outright. He squeezed his flustered partner back tightly against him again, despite Flake's mildly disgruntled noises. 

"I love you," Schneider insisted, squeezing Flake until he stopped wiggling. "I do not care about cum on you, and I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to do something. But," he said, raising his voice to talk over Flake's incoming protest, "if you feel like you need a shower, let's take a shower. I've got a bit of a mess on myself as well, dried and wet."

With continued snickers at Flake's disgust, Schneider hefted the man out of bed, blankets and all, and carried him happily into the bathroom, ready to start the second day of their romantic getaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for the overabundance of smut, but I'm not sorry ;) I've just been a little too snuggly and fluffy lately, and the boys deserve it.


	27. Shower Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider and Flake have a heart-to-heart in the shower, reminiscing over Flake's past.

Schneider pretended not to be watching as he gathered soaps and towels, but he couldn't stop. It was so interesting seeing how Flake prepared the shower once Schneider had deposited him in the bathroom and unraveled himself from the blanket. Flake soberly adjusted the knobs as if by a sacred ritual; once seemingly satisfied, he then subsequently attempted to urinate while impatiently waiting for his boner to subside.

Flake glanced over and caught Schneider staring, to which he sighed in exaggerated annoyance at his partner's chuckles. 

"As if it isn't difficult enough already," he complained, shuffling to turn more of his back to Schneider. "Stop looking."

Schneider raised his hands in surrender and piled the supplies by the shower before climbing in. He had to admit, whatever Flake did for the shower had resulted in the perfect combination of warmth and comfort in temperature. He sighed happily as he melted under the steaming water spray. The water pressure put their home shower to shame, and Schneider contented himself by letting it massage against the back of his neck and body. 

As he inhaled deeply, about to groan contentedly, Schneider felt soft, shy hands sliding around his waist from behind. He smiled again as he felt Flake's slight body gently pressing up against his own.

"Everything come out okay?" Schneider teased, turning his head to bump his nose against Flake's head that now rested on his shoulder.

"Yes, thank you," Flake said sarcastically, and Schneider could feel his mouth working to hold back a grin.

"C'mere; you're cold," Schneider said. He did a small pirouette to scoot Flake under the water, while simultaneously spinning around himself to face him. 

"I'm always cold," Flake rebuffed, but Schneider watched him instantly slump happily under the hot water. He rubbed the thinner man's arms and hands, more just for the closeness than rubbing warmth into them. Watching Flake's face soften further from the touches was more satisfying than he expected. 

"Tell me, Flake," Schneider asked as he continued to massage the other man's taut muscles, "you mentioned the women you'd been with. What about men?"

Flake cracked an eye open suspiciously from under the water. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious. Like I said before-- I want to get to know you better: all about you."

Flake made a thoughtful noise in his throat as he closed   
his eye again and leaned back into the water.   
"Well, you know about Paul."

"Oh yes. Even if you hadn't mentioned it to me that once, he's dropped many hints over the years. He seems quite proud of it, too."

"He shouldn't be," Flake said. "All he did was jerk me off, joining the ranks of you, Till, and everyone else that one night."

Schneider was quiet for a minute, prompting Flake to open his eyes once more. "Something wrong?"

Schneider's brow lowered slightly as he asked, "Till? I don't remember him paying attention to anyone except Richard that night."

Flake suddenly looked like he'd said something he shouldn't have, and that made Schneider even more concerned. 

"Well," Flake said, pushing his foot awkwardly around the water puddle at the bottom of the shower, "it was once again one of those "a long time ago" things--"

"Did he fuck you?" Schneider interrupted, and Flake was surprised to see his mouth set in a very tight line.

Flake raised an eyebrow as he responded, "That's a very accusatory tone coming from someone who's fucked two of us five band members," he said. He watched Schneider look at him, his eyes boring intensely into his own. The stare-off continued as the two said nothing for several moments. Flake blinked away water from his eyes, but kept his eyebrows raised.

Schneider finally took a deep breath and nodded, seeming to calm himself.  
"You're right," he said, releasing the deep breath with a sigh. "Of all people, I don't deserve to get jealous of your past. Sorry, Flake."

Flake's mouth twitched.   
"Your jealousy is actually incredibly flattering," he said, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. "I don't think I've ever had that happen before."

Schneider seemed relieved that Flake wasn't upset with him.   
"You don't have to answer that question if you don't want to," he said, shrugging. "It isn't my business, and I'm sorry for prying."

Flake allowed his smile to fully spread across his face, then reached a hand forward to hold Schneider's, his bashfulness taking a back seat to his appreciation for his partner.   
"I don't mind it, as long as you don't mind hearing about it." He squeezed Schneider's hand encouragingly.

Schneider smiled right back, and squeezed Flake's hand in response. "If you want, I'm all ears."

Flake gestured for Schneider to come under the water with him, which Schneider happily obliged. Flake ducked his head and pressed it against Schneider's shoulder for a moment, soaking in the steam, water, and companionship. He let his hands rest gently on Schneider's hips, not squeezing or pulling; just holding. Schneider stroked Flake's wet hair and waited, enjoying the moment just as much as Flake.

"I've only been with three men," Flake said, his voice echoing down off the tile floor as he kept his head pushed into Schneider's shoulder. Though it was a little muffled, Schneider could hear him just fine, so he let him continue to talk there since he seemed comfortable.   
"Till was the first one, but even he doesn't exactly count. We got really drunk after a show one night, I think back during the Mutter tour. It's hard to remember back so far sometimes, plus I was almost always drunk. That tends to cloud one's memory."

"I do remember that, yes," Schneider agreed. "Till had his hands full keeping you from destroying every bar we stopped by."

"Well," Flake continued, his hands holding ever so slightly more tightly on Schneider's curvy hips, "you may or may not remember that was also the time I had a crisis with women."

"A crisis?"

Flake groaned and buried his head further. "I literally couldn't speak to them unless I was completely hammered. It got to the point that even event organizers were impossible for me to communicate with, and I didn't even want to sleep with them. I have no idea what happened. I guess bad drinking habits and my already-significant fear of women just kept compounding together. Whatever it was, it got to a point that I spilled my guts to Till one night in a hotel, completely drunk."

Schneider placed a kiss against Flake's damp head, reminding himself that this was all in the past, and clearly something Flake wanted to share with him for one reason or another. His jealousy had no place here.  
"What all did you tell him?"

"Just what I said to you, basically. And that I wished I could fuck men, since I could talk to them just fine."

Schneider had a feeling he knew exactly where this story was headed, and he wasn't sure he approved of it.  
"Was Till drunk as well?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," Flake assured. "Don't worry; this isn't a story of him taking advantage or anything."

Schneider internally sighed in relief. Flake was very good at picking up on his trepidation.  
"Go ahead, then."

"Well, Till is Till, so of course his first comment about it was something crude like, "Men have holes too, no one says you can't fuck them," or some phrase like that."

Schneider gave a soft snort. "Of course it was. Sex is always his solution to everything."

"I know!" Flake said, excited that someone agreed with him. He raised his head up and continued the discussion properly, "And even back then I knew that, so I told him to fuck off, I think. He just laughed, then said he was serious. He asked if I was horny, and when I said yes, he just shrugged and said, "You can fuck me if you like." I remember that specifically because I couldn't believe how casually he suggested it. I thought he was joking again, but he grabbed a condom and threw it to me and said if I wanted to, I was more than welcome."

Flake stepped back and pinched the bridge of his nose before going on, "After the initial surprise, I realized I wasn't getting laid that night anyway, and as long as he didn't expect to be able to fuck *me* afterward, why not? I'm not really shy about experimenting, or I wasn't back then, so it wasn't *too* mind-blowing to think of trying it out."

"Did you?" Schneider asked, slightly more comfortable with the idea of Flake doing the fucking rather than Till. 

"I tried, quite valiantly. I got maybe three full thrusts before I was too soft to keep going."

"Nerves or alcohol? Or something else?"

"Lots of things, I think," Flake explained. "I don't really find Till attractive, is probably the biggest one. And his ass is so hairy…"

Schneider burst out laughing at that, which in turn made Flake chuckle as well.  
"You're not wrong," Schneider said, composing himself to let Flake continue.

"I appreciate the fact that your… hair," he waved a hand at Schneider's crotch, "is well kept."

Schneider gave a mock bow. "You're very welcome, though admittedly I do it for me more than for others. I like looking clean, and it's proven to make your dick look bigger when you're well-trimmed."

Flake nodded sagely in agreement.

"Why are you nodding?" Schneider asked, crossing his arms. "Your dick is like a garden hose even while soft. You don't need it to look bigger!"

"It doesn't matter how big you are," Flake stated, as if reciting a sage maxim, "you'll always want to look bigger. Besides, I liked feeling smooth after having to shave for Buck Dich, so I just continued. Which actually brings me back to the earlier topic of conversation."

Flake made a humming noise as he leaned back and let the water pelt against his face and hair again before finishing his train of thought.   
"Till actually came up with the idea for Buck Dich, even though he says I did. When I went soft after trying to have sex with him, surprisingly Till didn't laugh at me like I expected. I was horribly ashamed, and I guess he could tell. He just sat up and pulled his pants back on, patted me on the back, and said not to worry."

"I imagine you worried regardless," Schneider said.

Flake gave a rueful smile. "You know me well enough. Yes, I was pretty distraught and didn't listen to him. I convinced myself I obviously wasn't fit to be with women *or* men, and it was a terribly distressing thought."

Schneider reached for him automatically, and Flake allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. He rested his head on Schneider's shoulder for a moment, sighing. Schneider couldn't quite tell if it were a depressed sigh or a weary one from recounting unpleasant memories.

"I was pretty obvious about my despair, so Till held me until I settled. I blame the alcohol for the meltdown, but it really was just all my anxieties and self image issues coming together."

Schneider rubbed along Flake's back quietly, then decided to be productive as he did so. He grabbed the soap and a nearby washcloth, lathered it, and then began gently washing him. He started at Flake's right shoulder, crossing over his back to his other shoulder as Flake continued talking, apparently pleased with Schneider's choice to clean him.

"Till just sat and let me cry for awhile. I'm sure he realized how drunk I was-- since I was almost always drunk back then-- and when I stopped crying, he put his hands on my shoulders and said very seriously, "Flake, have you ever tried any kind of BDSM?""

Schneider's gentle scrubbing stuttered as he snorted in amusement.   
"I take it that question caught you as off guard as I expect it did?"

"Probably even moreso. I only remember specifically that question, not what I answered back. I assume it was along the lines of, "what the fuck, Till?" or something about how if I couldn't have sex like a normal person, what made him think I could have kinky bondage sex. Whatever I answered, he laughed, and that made me upset all over again so he sat and calmed me down a second time."

"Did he mean what he said, or was he just trying to make a joke to lighten the mood?" Schneider asked as he pushed Flake to arm's length to begin lathering his front.

"Oh he was quite serious," Flake said, "but not how I expected."

Schneider gently took one of Flake's arms and stretched it out so he could wash it more easily. "Then what did he mean?"

"Apparently he'd just been introduced to the world of BDSM, but specifically the non-sexual side of it. I didn't even know there *was* a non-sexual side," Flake mused, turning his arm over for Schneider to scrub the other side. "Anyhow, he began explaining to me how he was seeing this person, he didn't say who, that was basically stripping him down, tying him up, and leaving him for awhile. Sometimes they beat him, sometimes they had sex, sometimes they didn't even touch him at all. But he kept repeating how *good* he felt afterward, as if he'd been liberated by being bound somehow. All of his concerns and anxieties either fled from him because of the pain, or "eased" out, he said, by being tied up and forced to sit under someone else's control, even if they didn't lay a finger on him."

Schneider paused his slow circular scrubbing across Flake's chest, looking at him curiously. Flake looked down into Schneider's questioning eyes, then reached forward and stroked dripping hair pieces out of Schneider's face.   
"I didn't quite understand it, of course, and didn't really see the appeal. But the way he explained it made it sound like almost a cure-all. So, I said I wanted to try."

"Are you telling me Till tied you up and fucked you?"  
A very concerned eyebrow raised on Schneider's face, which Flake leaned forward and kissed until it stopped furrowing.

"No. We didn't have sex again after that first attempt. Till might not much care what enters his body or what he puts his body into, but I'm a bit more discerning, and he isn't really my type. But he did tie me up."

"And then?"

Flake shrugged slightly. "He gave me a blindfold and told me to get undressed; he even offered to leave the room if I preferred, but since I'd just had my dick in him, I didn't see the need. Till then tied my hands and feet, and then just sat nearby. He offered a gag too, but I declined, in case I changed my mind and wanted to swear at him. We stayed like that for probably an hour, him just sitting in a chair across the hotel room and me on all fours on the bed, blindfolded and bound."

"Did it help?" Schneider asked, apparently genuinely intrigued by the notion.

"Yes. Like he'd said, being restricted and blindfolded helped me focus and put my anxieties in perspective. Women didn't seem so scary, my sex life didn't seem hopeless anymore-- it all faded away somehow, and I felt just, better, by the end of it." Flake looked embarrassed suddenly and dropped his gaze.

Schneider felt himself smiling at the return of Flake's bashfulness, and knew there was more to the story. "Well? What happened then?"

Flake cleared his throat and kicked again at the collected water on the floor of the shower. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to little more than a mumble, "...I humped into Till's hand and finished before I asked to be untied."

A wince flashed across Flake's face, broadcasting his discomfort. Schneider wasn't sure what caused the discomfort, but he decided it wouldn't be due to Flake worrying about his reaction. Without another thought, Schneider grabbed Flake's face and kissed him full on the mouth, firmly, before releasing him with a smack. 

"There," Schneider said, releasing a suddenly dazed and befuddled Flake, "now you can continue. I just needed to kiss you."

Flake was too surprised to even sputter as he normally would at the affection. Instead, a goofy smile spread across his face, and Schneider felt affection welling up inside him at the sight. 

"Right, yes," Flake said, still smiling but slightly reddened nonetheless. "It basically happened just like that. Once I felt calm and relaxed at the end of all that and a good bit less drunk, I got hard again. Till asked if I wanted to stay tied up like that, and I said yes. Then he asked if I wanted help, and I said yes again. Then he just sort of held his hand there and let me, well, do what I wanted."

"I take it you liked it? Judging by your *excited* retelling, that is…" Schneider nodded in the direction of Flake's crotch, and Flake groaned and turned around to hide his slightly stiffened dick shamefully.

"It was fine, yes, and had nothing to do with Till," Flake assured, his back to Schneider as he thunked his head against the shower wall. "The experience itself was so relieving that *everything* in me relaxed, including my mental sexual blocks."

Schneider looped his arms around Flake's middle and pulled him away from the wall and back under the shower water.   
"And that's how the Buck Dich talks happened?"

"Once I got dressed, I felt awkward and just blurted the first thing that came to mind. Something like, "Can you imagine what people would say if they found out we like being tied up and fucked?" Then we laughed and played "what if" with that thought until we basically had the whole routine planned out."

"That was a pretty shocking breakfast when you two pitched that idea," Schneider admitted. "But it worked out quite well, didn't it? Even if you did end up taping your ass every night afterward."

"I do not enjoy being penetrated," Flake stated confidently, "either on purpose or accidentally, but *especially* not accidentally. Till's a careful man in all other areas, but he was never overly cautious with his aim. It was self-preservation."

"I wasn't accusing you," Schneider soothed, "just remembering."

The two remained in their embrace for a long time, Schneider squeezing Flake's back to his front under the warm water and Flake leaning back happily against him. 

Schneider thought for a moment, and then asked abruptly with his chin on Flake's shoulder, "Is being tied up and fucking my hand something you'd like me to do, because it sounds pretty hot to me."

The speed with which Flake's dick went from barely thickened to fully hard was astonishing. The thin man had a talent for stiffening quickly, but this was downright impressive. Schneider supposed his blatant erection was enough of an answer, since Flake seemed to be having a hard time speaking. All he'd done was suck in a sharp breath at Schneider's query.

"I guess you didn't bring any supplies," Schneider said, to which Flake shook his head no. "Well, unfortunately I don't have any sort of BDSM gear with me either. Wasn't on my packing list. Would my belt help? I can also make a blindfold and gag from the bathroom hand towels, if you like."

"Please," Flake breathed, and Schneider could swear he almost saw the man's eyes sparkle. This must be something he really, really wanted if he were willing to be so forthcoming about it all and push past his trepidations with intimacy. 

"All right. I'll grab the towels."

Schneider gave a little swat to Flake's tiny butt as the man scampered past him out of the shower, all gangly legs and elbows with his stiffened dick bobbing as he went. He seemed so eager, and that realization brought warmth into Schneider's heart. The shy, hesitant man finally trusted Schneider enough not only to speak to him about his past and insecurities, but to *ask* for something he desired as well, even at the risk of Schneider saying no. Granted, he couldn't think of anything Flake might have asked that he would have said "no" to, short of asking to be murdered or something equally ridiculous. Schneider loved him. Even if he wanted something strange, or gross, or even something that simply didn't turn Schneider on, he was willing to try it. 

Fortunately, he thought as he selected two small hand towels, this kink definitely *was* turning him on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was lightly inspired by the absolutely gorgeous fic "Bearskin Rug" by hwbswd, specifically the sweet shower scene. I'm so sorry for my ignorance-- I wish I knew how to like, tag you or something, but hopefully you see this note xD thank you for the inspiration, and the gorgeous fic as well <3
> 
> For all others, if you haven't read that fic, do so!!!! You'll love it.


	28. Jealous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till is yet again confused about what he feels, but Richard is proud to see him begin to figure things out for himself this time.

Richard waited until Till's ragged breathing calmed and his trembling hands stilled before he pulled him back to the bed. Till followed without a word, either obedient or just emotionally spent, or maybe both. 

Richard sat down, and then Till heavily flopped down next to him. Neither man said anything for a moment-- Richard still concentrated on stilling his own heavy breathing and racing heartbeat.

Till looked over at his boyfriend and felt a horrific lurch of nausea in his stomach. Richard was battered, bruised, and clearly used up, thanks to him. He'd said it was fine, that he enjoyed it, but of course he would say that, wouldn't he? Richard was a good person, through and through. Obviously he would try to assuage his partner's guilt and reassure Till he hadn't really hurt him.

He swallowed painfully as he took in Richard's discolored and bloodied shoulder when the man turned to him, his face a quizzical expression.

"Till, I meant what I said," Richard said in a soothing voice. He reached his hand out to stroke along Till's arm, but Till flinched from the touch. Richard didn't relent, and instead grasped his arm firmly, holding him in place.  
"Stay," he commanded gently. 

Till flicked his eyes up to meet Richard's compassionate gaze for only a second before dropping them to the floor. He *knew* Richard meant what he said. He *knew* he hadn't caused any lasting damage, and he *knew* Richard had gotten off and enjoyed himself. All of this he knew.

Why couldn't he force himself to just accept that knowledge?

"I think… I think that was a bad idea," Till began quietly, eyes still downcast.

Richard loosened his grip on Till's arm but said nothing.

"It was too rough," Till continued. "I didn't really give you any chance to use your safe word, and I wanted it for all the wrong reasons. You said it before, too: you're not a blow-up doll for me to work out my aggression and issues on. I love you too much to use you like that."

Richard began to speak, but Till cut him off, still speaking in a very low voice, "Even if you did enjoy yourself, I'm just not comfortable with it. I'm sorry…"

Till's apology faded as he finally looked at Richard, his big eyes pained and regretful.

Richard pulled Till close to him in a hug. He could feel new trembles in Till's body that broke his heart.  
"It's okay," Richard said, his voice muffled as he pressed his head against Till. "You don't need to apologize for having a boundary. That's all it is, love. Whether I enjoyed it or not doesn't matter if it makes you uncomfortable. That's a hard line I won't cross either, making you do things you don't want to do."

Till's trembling eased as Richard spoke, and Richard knew that was a good sign.  
"I was honestly feeling weird that we *hadn't* really found any boundaries yet," Richard admitted. "So, this is a bit of a relief, in a way. Try to think of it like that."

Till gave a slow nod, and though still somewhat wary and perhaps not fully convinced, he could see Richard’s viewpoint. He gave a heavy sigh and dropped his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder before asking, “Think I’ll ever get to a point where I’m even half as emotionally competent as you?”

Richard laid his own head against Till’s and rubbed his back fondly.  
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Would you even have tried to talk to me about being uncomfortable, how long has it been-- 8, 9 months ago when we first started dating?”

He felt a heavy exhale from Till before hearing him say very quietly, “No, I wouldn’t.”

Richard turned and pressed a kiss to Till’s temple. “Exactly. And now you did. You can’t hold yourself to some unreasonable standard while ignoring your progress. Which, in my opinion, you’ve made a lot of.”

Till just grunted in response, seemingly bashful at the praise Richard was lavishing on him. 

“Besides,” Richard continued, “it was irresponsible of me to agree to something like that without talking about it thoroughly first. I got so overwhelmed, in a good way,” Richard reassured as Till’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “I got overwhelmed and I could have let things go too far because I don’t have any experience with rough sex. As fun as being marked and bruised is, I don’t think you, me, or anyone else in the house would be okay with any serious sex injuries. We’ll just work up to things like that if we want to try it again, all right? No more spontaneous roughness.”

That plan of action seemed to ease Till’s mind somewhat, and he nodded his head in agreement against Richard’s shoulder. 

“Now,” Richard said, turning and pushing Till’s head off his shoulder so he could face him, “tell me about what was bothering you.”

Till exhaled heavily through his nose, but it was a resigned sigh. Richard didn’t see any of the earlier anxiety or desperation that had been clearly visible.

“It sounds incredibly stupid,” Till began. “I think that’s partly why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Richard smiled encouragingly. “Try me. I’ve heard a lot of stupid things, and they rarely come from you.”

A brief smile flickered over Till’s face at Richard’s levity before he went on more seriously, “I think— I think I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?” Richard repeated in surprise.

“Maybe. I’m not really used to the feeling, though, so I don’t know for sure.”

“Jealous of who? Not me, right? I’ve been spending basically all of my time right next to you.”

“No, not you,” Till reassured. He swallowed before clarifying, “I think I’m jealous of Flake.”

Richard’s eyebrows shot up in even more surprise at that admittance. “Of Flake?”

“Yes, my little parrot,” Till said, patting Richard’s head in amusement as his shock. “And no, not the way you’re thinking. I’ll fuck just about anyone, but we discovered he and I aren’t sexually compatible a very long time ago. Mostly that I wasn’t his type.”

With eyes hilariously wide, Richard asked, “Wait, what? You had sex with Flake too??”

Though he’d previously been quite serious, Till snorted and again patted Richard’s head.  
“I’d not call Flake drunkenly trying to stick himself in me while soft as “sex,” but we had a night of experimenting, I guess.”

Instead of being enlightened, Richard just looked even more confused.  
“Um, I’m sure it’s not my business, but what—”

“He wanted to try it with a man, wanted to try some BDSM, then decided he just wanted to use my hand,” Till rattled off as casually as if he were making a grocery list. “And by the way, don’t repeat that. Flake would smother me in my sleep or poison my food if he found out I told you all of this.”

Richard pretended to zip his mouth shut.

“Good boy.” Till ruffled his boyfriend's hair fondly.

“I thought that was my line,” Richard said with a tiny smirk. “I’m still not sure I understand how you feel jealous, though.”

Till hummed, trying to think of how to get across his feelings. “It’s not a sexual thing, and definitely not romantic. Never in a million years could I picture anything romantic between he and I.”

Richard nodded in agreement before Till continued, “That’s why I’m not sure if this is jealousy or not. It's different than when you were seeing your ladyfriend. This is more… wistful? I don't know how to explain it very well."

Till grunted and readjusted his seat on the bed. Richard patiently waited for him to settle and go on, glad that Till was bothering to try in the first place.

"I wish Flake were here," Till finally said with conviction. "I wish he'd have come to me and talked about his problems. I wish he trusted me like he used to, that I knew what he was thinking and what he wanted. I feel like I don't know him like that anymore. I don't feel like his best friend anymore."

With that last admission, Richard saw sadness cascade over Till's face.  
"You are jealous," Richard said quietly. "But like you said, it's not what you think of normally as jealousy. You're jealous that Schneider is his partner."

"That's still not quite it," Till insisted. "I'm thrilled the two are together. I've wanted Flake to find someone to love and hopefully settle down with for years. He couldn't have picked a better person. I just…"

The sudden clarity in Till's mind was perfectly visible to Richard through the man's widened eyes.  
"I'm afraid of losing him," Till realized. "I'm scared he's going to drift away and not come back."

Though he felt a sad sympathy for Till's worry, Richard simultaneously felt his heart swell with pride at the revelation. It was insightful, and a very emotionally mature conclusion for Till to reach. He'd come such a long way since he and Richard had become partners.

"I'm sure you know already," Richard began quietly after looping an arm around Till's waist, "but that's a very normal fear."

A nod, then a dismal sounding response, "Doesn't make it easier. Neither does knowing what the feeling is."

Richard squeezed Till's waist firmly.  
"Maybe not yet, but it will. I promise it's better than floundering around, trying to figure out what's going on in your head. And as far as Flake goes, he himself mentioned something when you and I first got together. I guess Paul got a little depressed that he and I weren't spending as much time together, and Flake had to assure him that you and I weren't pulling away from everyone else. We just needed some time with each other since the relationship was so new: "Honeymoon" phase, I think he called it. Flake mentioned all this to me a few weeks after Paul brought it up to him, I guess to make sure I made time for him. But by that point, you and I had settled into our routines and we had gone back to "normal" with everyone. Anyway," Richard said, waving a hand to get back to his original point, "I think Flake and Schneider are in the same boat. They're only just now beginning to be really intimate with one another, and there were some issues to work past to get there. I think pretty soon they'll come back and be "normal" again soon, like we did."

Richard reached up and began playing with a strand of Till's hair fondly. "I know Flake trusts you more than anyone else on earth. That won't change just because he's dating."

Till smiled at that, and kissed one of Richard's fingers as it passed by his face.  
"I'm sure you're right," he admitted gruffly. "I just miss the bastard."

With a smirk of his own, Richard said, "I won't miss his snarky comments tomorrow morning about our sex the night before."

Richard heard what could only be described as a purr rising up from Till's chest then.  
"Oh? Is there supposed to be *more* sex happening tonight, Her Kruspe?" he asked playfully with a raised eyebrow.

There were still lingering doubts in Till's eyes. Richard knew they'd be there until Flake himself assured him, which would certainly come in time. But Till looked settled-- eased, almost. 

Richard first answered Till with nothing but a passionate, yet gentle kiss. When he finished, he sat back and shook his head.  
"No. No sex. I think we've had plenty for one night already. I just want to hold you and kiss you, if you don't mind."

"Excellent," Till enthused, lovingly pulling Richard back to him and enveloping him in his huge arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone <3
> 
> Updates have been slow, and this chapter is shorter than most recently because of some family things. I had to suddenly fly across country yesterday because of an illness in the family, and have been helping both coordinate family as well as prepare a house in case of that family member passing away. It's been incredibly hard, and I'm exhausted both emotionally and physically. 
> 
> If anyone is up to it, I would love to chat, here or on tumblr. My internet is sporadic, but any distractions at all are absolutely welcome and appreciated. I've also been on a big Tillchard kick, and realized my reference folder of those two is depressingly small. If you find any incredible photos of the two together, please don't hesitate to throw them in my direction <3 they will be loved and cherished and used for further inspiration.
> 
> Love all of you, and I promise to keep this going whenever I can. It's a nice break in the madness.
> 
> -nikonothere


	29. Bondage Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider does his best to give Flake what he needs, and Flake has a realization of his own.

"Mmmf."

With a washcloth stuffed in his mouth, Flake's normally verbose and chatty nature was stifled *almost* entirely. 

"Do you want me to take it off?" Schneider asked from somewhere to his left. 

Flake craned his neck, even though he couldn't see past the blindfold, and shook his head.

"All right. Just make sure to lay down if you decide you’re done or want to stop, okay?"

Flake nodded. They'd already gone over this but Schneider was being especially cautious, which Flake didn't mind. He preferred it to him being aloof or uncaring, and Schneider was far from uncaring. He’d been almost too gentle tying him up with their improvised restraints. Soft cloths were now wrapped around his wrists and ankles, held with both shoestrings and Schneider’s belt. The shoestrings kept his wrists and ankles together, and the belt that looped between them kept both pairs of appendages tight beneath him. Flake was able to “stand” on all fours fairly comfortably, but the belt was snug enough to prevent him from spreading his arms or legs out any further. His mouth and eyes were similarly bound, though his mouth had an extra washcloth pushed into it for the gag. 

He felt so secure. 

As soon as Schneider had finished all the other restraints, then slipped the blindfold on last, Flake’s tension and anxiety had begun immediately melting away from him. It felt like rain sliding down his body and dripping in rivulets, draining and falling off his naked body. Not even his perfectly adjusted showers felt this good. Now he was completely relaxed, despite being trussed up like a bird ready to be stuffed and baked. He sighed through his nose heavily, relieved, and tried to say “thank you” before remembering he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself letting out a muffled moan from behind the gag.

He heard a shuffling movement beside him, like footsteps coming closer, before Schneider asked in a low voice, “Is this good?”

Another moan slipped free in response before Flake even realized, and his stiffened dick bumped up against his stomach with a heavy throb. It was utterly fantastic, thank you very much.

Schneider chuckled softly. “I assume that’s a yes.”  
There was a pause before he continued, somewhat hesitantly, “Can I touch you like we talked about?”

Flake nodded yet again, and he almost immediately felt Schneider’s gentle, soft hands slide up his waist. It tickled badly and he involuntarily flinched away with a sharp inhale. Schneider adjusted his grip more firmly, apparently recognizing the discomfort. Flake felt the man’s fingers go along his sides, pressing a bit rather than just trailing as they went. From his hips, the fingers moved up his waist, tracing each rib bone that encased his heaving lungs and fluttering heart. A tremble worked its way starting at Flake’s toes, inching up his body behind Schneider’s touch; but instead of the normal, anxious trembles he was used to, this version was downright pleasant. Warmth blossomed everywhere he felt Schneider’s fingers caressing, and Flake knew he was slowly turning very red. Had he been clothed and not tied up, he probably would have been horrifically embarrassed. Now, all he felt was confidence and sensuality-- a sensuality he thought he’d misplaced long ago. He welcomed its return wholeheartedly. 

Another heavy breath left his nose along with an aroused twinge from his chest down to his groin. The noise he made caused Schneider to echo with a pleased grunt himself from off to the side. Schneider's hands continued their slow but meticulous path upward, reaching Flake's chest and each resting atop the flat of his pecs. Flake felt him squeeze ever so slightly as his partner gave another “mmm” of approval as he caressed Flake’s chest. The pressure was akin to a small electric jolt through him at the feeling, as his senses had heightened with the removal of his sight. Normally, his eyes were busy everywhere else, flicking from one thing to another in rapid succession and always glancing nervously around. Now, with that sense barred from him, his focus was entirely on sound and touch. The touches were like soft fire. And the sounds…

Flake raised his head up as he heard Schneider move again beside him, then release what sounded to Flake like an adoring noise. 

"You're so beautiful," Schneider breathed next to him, rubbing his chest from either side. 

Only for a split second did Flake feel self-conscious and wonder if they should stop; but yet again Schneider must have sensed his discomfort, because he slid in even closer and moved his arms fully around into a resting hug on Flake's skin. He had climbed onto the bed and was pressed to Flake's side, arms firmly around his chest with his head pushed up against Flake's neck. Flake felt his own breath hitch as Schneider's soft, languid breaths heated up his ear. A sound neither he nor Schneider had ever heard pushed past Flake's gag, surprising them both. 

Flake whined.

He then heard Schneider inhale sharply, tightening his hug around Flake, which in turn made the thinner man whine yet again. The noise was so foreign to them both-- to Schneider, as he'd not heard much of anything from the man, even in the middle of his orgasm last night; and to Flake himself, who had always taken such great pains to keep himself from ever appearing as if he'd lost control. Control of himself was all he had, after all. Flake wasn't an imposing man, despite his height. Everyone, from his older brother, to his classmates in school, to his bandmates, and even the occasional fan: all had reminded him countless times that he had little to no ability to influence or control anyone else thanks to his tiny body type and heavy speech impediment. 

But he could control *himself.* 

Flake had learned early on in life that he was only capable of controlling himself, with his actions and reactions. He'd controlled what instrument he played, what band he played in, who he spent time with, when and how much he ate or who he slept with, and most importantly, his emotions. By doing this, Flake had control as he saw it over his own life. Even if that control was minimal, it helped keep his world steady and gave him a sense of security. He hadn’t needed anything else apart from that, really. Family and bandmates were still a high priority for him, of course, but Flake knew just how unpredictable even those two groups could be. His family hadn’t always been there for him, and each of his bandmates had done their fair share of shitty things to him throughout the years. The only thing he knew he could count on to control 100% of the time was himself.

And then Schneider had come along. 

The man who was now worshipfully clutching at him, holding Flake tightly up against his own body, he made Flake feel secure. With this willing transfer of power, of Flake giving up his control, he felt a sense of wholeness he’d never experienced before. He felt equally as safe and assured as he had on his own-- no, this was an even stronger feeling than that. Flake trusted Schneider. He now knew he could give himself completely to him, both body and mind.

With a dawning comprehension, the numerous thoughts that slowly turned over in his head formed a complete picture, and he gasped behind the gag at the realization:

Flake was falling in love.

Schneider nuzzled at the side of his neck, pressing small, insistent kisses that drew Flake’s attention back to the bedroom. His breathing had shortened during his brief introspection, now releasing in rhythmic pants through his nose. He raised his chin as Schneider reached beneath his jaw to kiss some more beneath his makeshift gag. Flake swallowed thickly, and felt Schneider’s tongue trace his bobbing Adam’s apple up and down with the movement of his throat. For whatever reason, picturing Schneider’s long, artful tongue on his neck was almost hotter than the feeling itself, and Flake’s dick throbbed at the mental picture. He could even feel a dribble of precum beading up and then sliding down his length, which was unusual for him.

Yet another whine made itself known from the bound man, followed by a hum from Schneider.  
“Do you want me to help you?” Schneider murmured as he moved back to Flake’s ear. He nibbled at the man’s earlobe, causing him to shiver pleasantly.

Flake nodded rapidly and huffed a short breath through his nose. 

Schneider released his grip from around Flake’s chest and sat back for a moment. Flake heard a cap opening, and then the wet sound of lube in Schneider’s hand. His non-lubed hand returned to Flake’s waist as he sat beside him again.

“Just like how we talked about?” Schneider reconfirmed.

His insistence on checking in with Flake each step of the way only served to make him fall even further into his feeling of security. Flake nodded and braced his hands and knees a bit more firmly as Schneider moved into place. 

Earlier they had discussed what positioning would be best for this. Flake mentioned that Till had merely held his hand out and allowed Flake to hump into it, and that had been that. Schneider wanted more: to be closer while still respecting Flake’s dislike of penetration and bottoming. Schneider had nearly begged, promising to respect him and still be as attentive as if he’d just been watching. So, the two agreed on the positioning Schneider was settling into now.

With Flake still on his hands and knees, Schneider got behind him, slotting his legs on either side of Flake’s. He then leaned forward, draping himself over Flake’s back and sliding one hand around his middle and up his chest to hold him close in a sort of half-hug as he’d been doing before. Flake had asked that Schneider wear his briefs, since the idea of Schneider naked behind him while he was tied up still gave him a twinge of nervousness. Schneider was quick to agree, wanting nothing more than Flake’s complete comfort, even if it meant not being as naked as he preferred.

After settling into place, Flake felt more than heard the happy noise Schneider made on top of him. It was almost like a pleasant vibration that went through Schneider’s chest and up against his back. The world was such a fascinating and different place while blindfolded, Flake thought.

“Ready?” Schneider asked one final time.

Flake nodded swiftly and tried to beg “please,” but it came out as just a muffled mess past the washcloth in his mouth.

Schneider understood regardless, and Flake suddenly felt a slick hand enveloping his cock. His hips automatically pushed into the hand, slipping his dick up through Schneider’s hold. Flake’s breathing quickened as it went from a soft pant to a series of clipped gasps. He thrust again, and he nearly choked as Schneider’s grip tightened ever so slightly. He could feel Schneider hardening against him as well through the man’s briefs, and the feel of it was immensely arousing.

Those first two experimental pumps were all Flake needed to confirm with himself that this was exactly what he wanted, and his body readily agreed with this eagerness. He began to thrust in earnest now, rhythmically jerking his hips up and forward into Schneider’s steady hand. Flake knew he’d not be able to last long at all, being focused so exclusively on the physical pleasure. Schneider’s warm body was protectively atop him, and he stroked Flake’s chest with his free hand as he whispered gentle words that Flake couldn’t process. Though he could feel subtle movements from Schneider’s hips as well, the man did little more than press his own stiffness tightly against Flake. He was busy focusing on giving Flake what he wanted above his own pleasure, it seemed. The buildup rose fast, almost too fast, but Flake felt no desire whatsoever to halt or delay it. 

He was safe, he was protected, he was pleasured, and he was *loved.*

With that last thought, Flake gave a final hard thrust as he yelled into the gag. If he’d had any rational thoughts about him, he might have been surprised at the noise; but he was far too gone to even consider it.

Flake jerked and spasmed several times, heaving his hips forward with each pulse against Schneider’s firm grip. The staccato of his thrusts were punctuated by his own muffled cries and encouraging murmurs from Schneider in his ear. At the end of the impossibly long series of waves, Flake finally sat back on his heels, winded and sated. He sunk to the bed, pressing his face into the soft blanket and reveling in the afterglow. If heaven were real, it would feel like this, Flake guessed, slowly trying to come back to earth. Cold air hit his back suddenly and he protested through the gag. He turned his head, despite still not being able to see, hoping that his displeasure was evident. 

It was, and bright light struck his eyes as Schneider slid the blindfold off. Flake blinked stupidly against the invading brightness and tried to raise a hand to ward it off before remembering he was still tied.

“Easy, Flake; I’m getting it,” Schneider soothed as he slipped the gag free from his partner’s mouth next.

After untying his hands and feet, Schneider scooped Flake into his arms and pressed their bodies together tightly and lay down on the bed together, back to front. Flake amended his previous thought, and decided that this right here was what heaven must be like. 

“Schneider,” he said, his voice a tiny bit hoarse from the gag. 

“Hmm?”

A moment passed, and then Flake confidently stated, “I love you.”

Laughter was the last thing he’d expected to hear from Schneider at that point, and it made him a little grouchy to hear him burst into giggles. “I’m being serious. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then--”

“No no no,” Schneider interrupted, pulling a now-squirming Flake back to him, chest firmly against Flake’s back once more. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear. It’s just a relief, is all.”

Though his mind was still slightly fuzzy from his orgasm, it was clear enough to tell that Schneider wasn’t lying. He had the biggest, happiest, almost dumb-looking smile when Flake turned himself around to face him that it had to be the truth. 

“You look really nice when you’re happy,” Flake said, failing to find anything else appropriate to say. God, he sounded like a moron. A strong desire to find a hole to crawl into suddenly wormed its way into his mind.

Schneider said nothing, and instead slid both of his hands to Flake’s face and pulled him into a deep kiss. 

It was a very nice kiss, Flake decided, sinking into the warmth of it and allowing himself to relax yet again. This was becoming an easier and easier thing to do the more time he spent with Schneider, he realized. He moved his head, deepening the kiss to Schneider’s surprise, and even allowed his tongue the chance to explore as well. Schneider welcomed him, and Flake quickly lost all sense of shame and self as they kissed and kissed some more.

Flake didn’t know how long they continued like that, and he almost didn’t notice he was again reaching his hand down to Schneider, who eagerly pressed into his touch. He wasn’t thinking of technique or worshiping his partner’s member as he’d done earlier that morning, but rather just adding a small help as he pushed up tighter against Schneider and kissed him even more desperately. He loved Schneider, and he needed to be closer, to show him that he loved him. Flake didn’t realize that Schneider was consumed with the exact same thoughts, but perhaps it was those simultaneous feelings that pushed the two so close in those moments together.

As Schneider came with no more than a grunt in Flake’s hand, Flake clutched his free hand to the back of Schneider’s head, pulling the man’s face down and holding him tightly against his chest. 

Flake loved him, and he would never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the outrageously fluffy romance <3


End file.
